


When The Lights Are Down

by etonnant67



Category: EXO (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, M/M, Minor Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Technically slow burn, minor seulgi/wendy if you squint, moderate amounts of alcohol consumption, this is extremely nerdy im sorry yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-25 14:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14979266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etonnant67/pseuds/etonnant67
Summary: Jongin spends his time searching for the stories hidden in music, for the message woven into the magic of the stage. It makes sense that he’d be drawn to Taemin. But he’d never expected that he’d fall so deep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what happens when you go into early retirement and have nothing else to do. And I just really wanted to write a rockstar!taekai tbh.

“Ok, but I don’t get _why_ you don’t want to come out with me.” Baekhyun pouts at Jongin, his bottom lip jutting out pitifully.

 

Jongin rolls his eyes at Baekhyun and continues to wipe down the bar.

 

“Because it’s Wednesday? I have class tomorrow?”

 

Baekhyun scoffs. “You don’t have class until like 1:30 and--” he holds up a hand when Jongin opens his mouth to interject, “before you even start with me, I know that you’ve already finished all your readings. So you don’t have any excuse.”

 

Jongin tucks the dirty cloth into the bin underneath the bartop and swipes Baekhyun’s empty beer glass, refilling it. He slides it down the bar and Baekhyun grabs it, toasting Jongin before he takes a sip.

 

“I don’t know, Baekhyun, maybe I don’t want to? I still have, like, another two hours of my shift left anyhow.”

 

Baekhyun goes back to pouting at Jongin, making his ridiculous puppy eyes at Jongin through his bleached blonde fringe.

 

“They don’t even go on until 11!” he whines. “That gives you plenty of time for you to get off shift. And when was the last time we went out together, Nini? Just help me out this one time, _please_.”

 

Jongin winces at the awful nickname and then sighs at Baekhyun’s antics.

 

“We went out together last week,” Jongin reminds him. “Remember? When you dragged me all the way to _fucking_ Dupont to ‘meet up with Chanyeol’ and we spent two hours in that fratty, overpriced bar only for him to not show?”

 

Baekhyun cringes. “Ok, fair, but how was I supposed to know that he was going to change his mind? It’s different this time because it’s _his_ band that’s playing so he _has_ to be there!”

 

“Is he still pining over Chanyeol?” Junmyeon calls over his shoulder as he comes out of the back, carrying a tray of clean glasses.

 

“Excuse me, I am not pining,” Baekhyun shouts back at him. Junmyeon shrugs and starts stacking the glasses on the shelf.

 

“Baekhyun, you’re sitting in the same spot that you sit in at least twice a week, drinking what’s probably your third beer, begging Jongin to follow you to some random place in D.C. just so that you can maybe, possibly, catch a glimpse of the same guy that you spend about sixty percent of your time lusting over,” Junmyeon says matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving the shelf in front of him. “That’s definitely pining.”

 

“It’s not a random place in D.C!” Baekhyun shoots back. “His band is playing at the Black Hat which is, like, two metro stops from here. And it’s the Black Hat! Everyone likes the Black Hat!”

 

“Isn’t that that weird hipster venue?” Junmyeon asks. He places the last glass on the shelf then comes over to stand next to Jongin. “Of course a band that Chanyeol is in would play there.”

 

“Is he _still_ whining about Chanyeol?” Irene shouts from the other side of the bar.

 

“He is,” Jongin says, nodding as Baekhyun sputters something about “not whining!” into his beer.

 

It had become something of a weekly game, for Baekhyun to come in during Jongin’s shift, sit at the bar, and talk about his most recent infatuation. It had been going on ever since Jongin had started working at the Green Line, and at this point, all of his coworkers had become invested in Baekhyun’s Love Of The Month. This month’s object of affection is Chanyeol, a guy that Baekhyun had met at Xroads while out one Friday about two weeks ago, and then spent the entire night dancing with him in a dark corner of the club. Very inappropriately. Jongin would know. He was there. Apparently, the two of them had been intermittently exchanging texts since and Baekhyun has roped nearly every person he knows into attempting to decode the hidden meaning behind every one of Chanyeol’s misplaced commas and god-awful spelling.

 

“So what’s new with him?” Irene asks conspiratorially. “Any developments?” She goes over to the other side of the bar and slips on to the stool next to Baekhyun. Baekhyun lights up at the chance to finally have someone interested in his love life and Jongin seizes the opportunity to slip away, leaving his coworkers to entertain Baekhyun. He goes to the other side of the bar and checks in on the other customers, refilling drinks and closing tabs.  Jongin pours himself a glass of water when he’s done and leans against the liquor shelf, looking out at the rest of the bar. It’s not all that late just yet, but the bar is mostly empty, with only a few people clustered around the green vinyl topped tables, talking in hushed tones and sipping at their drinks and a handful of others at the pool table, haphazardly shooting the balls around. Someone had queued up the old jukebox in the corner and old White Stripes songs have been playing for the past hour, the sound of Jack White’s guitar weaving in between the conversations milling through the bar.

 

Jongin prefers nights like these, when the Green Line fills with a quiet hum and the night feels less like a job, and, instead, more like a time for him to get away from the stress of grad school and hang out with his friends. He’d been coming to the Green Line since he’d started at the University of Maryland last year--Baekhyun had been the first person to take him. Baekhyun had been assigned as his upperclassman mentor through the Korean Grad Students Association and had suggested the Green Line as the place for their first meeting. Jongin had been a bit skeptical at first--of Baekhyun’s loud personality and irreverence for any and all things, and of the Green Line and how divey it seemed to his Los Angeles sensibilities-- but he soon found a gentle heart, sharp brain, and best friend behind all of Baekhyun’s shenanigans and a comfortable hang out and escape from school in the Green Line. Soon, he and Baekhyun were coming to the bar at least once a week and Jongin, like Baekhyun, got to know and befriend the manager, Junmyeon, and Irene, the full time bartender. When Jongin decided that he needed a part-time job to help stretch his paltry student stipend, Junmyeon offered him a job on the spot, no questions asked.

 

Which is how he ended up here. And it suits Jongin just fine.

 

“Wait. Oh my god!”

 

Jongin looks over to Irene, who’s now standing up, clutching her phone, texting furiously, a huge smile on her face.

 

“You didn’t tell me that Chanyeol plays in Manhwa!” she continues, still texting.

 

“Me?” Baekhyun shouts. Jongin winces at the volume of his voice. “Why would _I_ tell you that? It’s you who’s wrong here! You should have told _me_ that you knew him!”

 

“I don’t know him well, obviously!” Irene puts her phone down on the bartop and puts her hands on her hips, glaring at Baekhyun. “And how the hell was I supposed to know that your Chanyeol is the same as Yeri’s Chanyeol?”

 

“How many fucking Chanyeols do you know?” Baekhyun says. Other customers are staring. “It’s not like it’s a common name!”

 

“He’s got a point, you know,” Junmyeon says, laughing.

 

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me!” Baekhyun makes a lunge for Irene’s phone but her reflexes are quicker, and she snatches it back.

 

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jongin goes over and pulls Baekhyun away from Irene as the two of them squirm as he tries to grab her phone. Junmyeon is still laughing his ass off.

 

“Irene knows Chanyeol!”

 

“Ok, I do _not_ know Chanyeol,” Irene says with a flip of her long hair. “He just plays in the same band as one of my friends. I’ve maybe met him once or twice when I’ve gone to see them play. Yeri? Do you remember her?”

 

Jongin furrows his brow as he tries to connect a face to a name and he settles on the small, cute girl who wears a lot of black and has short bobbed blonde hair who comes into Green Line sometimes and spends the entire time gossiping with Irene.

 

“I think so?” he says, finally. “And this is important because?”

 

“Because Irene could have set me up with Chanyeol _ages ago_ ,” Baekhyun whines.

 

“I could not have! Like I said, I barely know Chanyeol and Yeri just started playing with Manhwa, like two months ago. This is all new!” Irene’s phone lights up in her hand and she reads the latest text.

 

“Yeri says that, yes, she does play with the same Chanyeol that you’re obsessed with” Irene rattles off, “And she says that we should all come and see them play tonight. So now I’m totally going with you guys.”

 

“There is no ‘you guys’,” Jongin says. “I’m not going. I have class tomorrow.”

 

“Oh my god, shut up, Jongin,” Irene says, punching him in the arm. “Be less of a giant fucking nerd for once in your life. You’re coming.”

 

“You don’t get to decide this!”

 

“You’re right,” Baekhyun says, “Irene doesn’t. But I do, and you’re _fucking coming_.” He pouts again. “Please, Nini? Please?”

 

Jongin sighs.

 

“Oh my god, fine.”

 

Junmyeon is still cackling.

 

\----

 

Jongin crosses his arms tighter, trying to pull his denim jacket more securely over his chest. The temperature dropped more than he’d anticipated when he left for his shift earlier that evening and he regrets not bringing a thicker coat. He’d left the Green Line once his shift had ended, Irene and Baekhyun shoving him out the door. They’d taken the two metro stops to the U street station and now the three of them are making their way down the sparsely populated late night sidewalk towards the Black Hat. Irene and Baekhyun are a few steps ahead of Jongin, their heads close together, the two of them giggling over something or another.

 

Jongin trails after them for the last few blocks to the Black Hat’s unassuming, plain black and beige brick exterior. His eye catches an elaborately drawn poster by the door, the art done in the style of the _Priest_ series that Jongin remembers being passed around Korean school when he was a kid. Jongin just makes out five characters drawn in the middle of combat with their musical instruments and the words “MANHWA TONIGHT” written in all caps along the bottom of the poster.  They pay the $10 cover and hand their ids to the bouncer, who barely glances at them before ushering trio inside.

 

“Why are they called ‘Manhwa’?” Jongin asks Irene as they maneuver their way towards a spot close to the front of stage. The space is surprisingly full for a weeknight, the floor teeming with people, everyone humming with the kinetic excitement and energy of a night out. Jongin can feel the damp heat from the bodies around him close in on his skin and chase away the chill from the outside air. The crowd is more diverse than Jongin would have expected, with a mix of teenagers, college kids, and people who look well into their thirties standing around them.

 

“No idea,” Irene responds, turning to face Jongin. She looks over his shoulder and then makes a noise of disgust. She pulls a face and then flips the bird to someone standing behind Jongin.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“A guy standing to your left just did the nastiest thing with his tongue in my direction. Ugh. Fuck men.”

 

“Here, stand in front me.” Jongin moves over a bit and shields Irene from behind.

 

“Thanks,” she says, tilting her head back to make eye contact. “Every fucking time, you know?”

 

“Not exactly,” Jongin says. “But let me know if you want me to punch someone.”

 

Irene grins at him “Why are you single again? You’re like every girl’s dream guy--you’re tall, grossly sweet, ridiculously attractive, you can dance, _and_ you’re getting a fucking PhD. You’re every mother-in-law’s wet dream. If you weren’t like my little brother, I’d totally date you.”

 

“Oh wow, thanks for the clarification,” Jongin deadpans. “And, for the record, I’m getting a PhD in postcolonial East Asian studies. Not exactly what most moms have in mind when they tell their daughters to go get a guy with two degrees.”

 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of sexy,” Irene says. “You kind of have the hot history professor thing going on.” She reaches up and brushes his hair out of eyes. Jongin blinks at the flutter of her fingertips. He’s way overdue for a haircut.

 

“Especially with your hair all long like this? It looks good on you.” Irene hums to herself and her lips turn downwards, those two little lines between her eyes crinkling into place.

“What’s up with you and Sehun?”

 

Jongin looks at her incredulously.

 

“Oh my god, not this again. We are just friends, Irene. Actually, you know what, no we’re not just friends. He’s my fucking _roommate_. So that’s doubly as platonic.”

 

Irene puts her hands up defensively. “Ok, ok, I’m just asking. Since you’re not dating anyone, I figured that maybe you and Sehun were a thing.”

 

Jongin exhales sharply and resists the urge to shudder at the thought of him and Sehun doing anything remotely sexual together. “No. Not a thing. Just friends. I’m busy, Irene. Way too busy to date or anything.”

 

And it’s true, he is busy. Jongin spends most of his time in class or studying or working. And when he’s not doing one of those three things, he’s either sleeping or trying to find another way to squeeze in more time for studying or working. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously since Krystal during his junior and senior years of undergrad, and save that one drunken makeout session during orientation week with Baekhyun’s friend, Kyungsoo, Jongin hasn’t touched another human being.

 

“Are you ragging on Jongin for being as hot as he is and yet as woefully single as he is?” Baekhyun chimes in, not looking up from his phone.

 

“Yep,” Irene says, slinging an arm around Jongin’s shoulders. “It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.”

 

“I keep trying to get him to go out with someone!” Baekhyun is still texting. “And he rejects all the people I introduce him to. I’ve given up.”

 

“It’s a waste,” Irene says solemnly.

 

“I’m going to unfriend both of you.”

 

“You can’t do that,” Baekhyun sing-songs. “I know where you live and Irene works with you.”

 

“Is Manhwa the first act on tonight?” Jongin asks, trying to change the subject.

 

Baekhyun finally looks up.

 

“Huh? No,” he says. “They’re like the last. That’s why we’re here so late. Chanyeol says that they’re about to go on, which, good, cause I honestly have no interest in seeing any other band tonight.”

 

“Don’t worry, Baekhyun,” Jongin responds, rolling his eyes. “We never doubted that.”

 

“I know what I want, what can I say?” Baekhyun takes one more look at his phone and then pockets it. “What genre is Manhwa, anyway?”

 

“You don’t even know what _genre_ they are?” Irene says, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re so obsessed with Chanyeol and you don’t even know what type of music his band plays?”

 

“Like I said, I want what I want. I want Chanyeol. The music is secondary.”

 

Irene scoffs. “You’re the most ridiculous human being, you know that, right? And if you must know, they’re kind of hard to categorize? It’s kinda like mix of trillwave and trip hop and RnB inspired electronic. Yeri usually says its like if ‘Prince and Frank Ocean had a funky lo-fi internet baby’.”

 

“I only understood every third word you said.” Baekhyun gapes at Irene with wide eyes. “What does any of that even mean?”

 

“Manhwa is super experimental,” chimes in a girl standing in front of them. She has close cropped purple hair and is wearing an oversized leather jacket and black combat boots. She can’t be any older than sixteen. “They really like to play with genres and make stuff like nothing else that’s out there.  Yixing and Chanyeol do all the sound mixing and Yeri writes a ton of lyrics. But it’s the lead singer, Taemin, who really brings it all together, you know?”

 

“Um. No? We don’t?” Baekhyun says.

 

“Well you should,” the girl continues. “Taemin is incredible, by the way. Like, he has this insane stage presence. You can never take your eyes off of him. He kind of has a fan club.”

 

“A fan club?” Baekhyun repeats.

 

“Oh come on, Baekhyun,” Irene says. “Don’t act like you’re not a card carrying member of Chanyeol’s fanclub.”

 

The teenager looks at Baekhyun hopefully.

 

“You like Chanyeol?” she asks, “He’s great! My friend is totally obsessed with him. He’s got that whole tall, mysterious, and handsome aura--”

 

The lights go down then, and the girl breaks off mid-sentence and stars screaming, her shrieks raising up with the roar of the crowd.

 

Jongin focuses his attention on the stage just as the backlights ease on, the white backdrop curtain becoming awash in blue and white lights.

 

Chanyeol is the first one on stage, wearing denim cutoff shorts that have probably seen better days and a black tank top, his arms held triumphantly over his head, a drumstick clutched in each fist.

 

“What’s his shirt say?” Irene has to shout to be heard over the applause. “‘Sexual fantasies?’ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Baekhyun leers at her. “This is exactly why I’m here.”

 

Jongin watches as two more people file on to the stage. The first is a girl with heavy bangs wearing a black crop top and baggy jeans and bright red lipstick. She has an electric guitar slung over her shoulder and she swings her long black hair out of the way to settle the guitar at her front.  The other an impossibly handsome guy with floppy hair and dangly earrings who settles in front of the keyboard. Jongin recognizes Yeri as the one who comes out after them, eyes lined in thick eyeliner, her blonde hair framing her face, carrying an electric blue bass guitar nearly as big as she is. Chanyeol hits the snares just as Red Lipstick and Yeri start to adjust their microphones, and then there’s a flurry of flashing lights. The crowd reaches a crescendo as the last person walks out on stage.

 

“That’s him! That’s Taemin!” the girl in front of them screams.

 

Taemin walks up to the last empty microphone stand with his head down, eyes on the stage floor. His black hair hangs into his eyes, and Jongin can barely make out the specifics of his features, forced instead to focus on the three silver studs glinting at him from Taemin’s left ear. He’s wearing the strangest outfit--a sleeveless turtleneck top and high waisted wide leg pants that make Jongin think of the outfits that the campus kendo club wear when they practice on the quad. Taemin goes up to the stand, and wraps one hand around the microphone, eyes still trained on his white converse. Yeri hits a bass chord, the lights still, and Taemin finally looks up.

 

“We’re Manhwa,” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd. His voice is softer and deeper than Jongin would have thought.

 

Chanyeol taps his drumsticks together-- _one_ , _two_ , _three_ , _four_ \-- and Yeri nods at Keyboard Guy and the music starts to swell around them.

 

In this light, Jongin can finally start to make out the particulars of Taemin’s face. From where Jongin is standing, Taemin’s face runs soft--his lips are full, his face is round--but there’s a sharp edge to him, with his high cheekbones, eyes outlined in black eyeliner, and the quick set of his mouth, mischievous and sure as he sings the words to his songs. He’s beautiful. And Jongin can’t take his eyes off him. Taemin’s singing voice is deeper than his Jongin would have thought--its breathiness turning the song heavy and sultry, the driving bass matching with the timbre of his voice and making the melody swerve. The beat seems to hit the crowd all at once, and Jongin feels the reverberations in his chest, the the bass drilling into his body. The synth kicks in and Taemin starts to dance, moving across the stage in way that’s so graceful that it edges into erotic, his limbs obeying every plea that the song begs of him. And it’s infectious, the rest of Manhwa seems to feed off his energy, playing their instruments with more enthusiasm, pouring more and more of themselves into the music.

 

Everyone around Jongin is grooving, the energy bouncing from the stage down below, where the crowd is jumping and singing along. Irene has both arms over her head as she dances and Baekhyun grabs Jongin’s hand, pulling him towards him.

 

“Dance with me!” he yells into Jongin’s ear. And Jongin can’t help it, so he does, trying to keep up with to match Baekhyun’s frantic dancing as best as he can. Irene joins them and they make a triangle with their bodies, moving with the tempo of the crowd.  Manhwa is _good_.  Really good, and Jongin finds himself dancing and laughing more than he has in weeks, losing himself in the moment and in the music. But Jongin’s eyes keep pulling him back towards Taemin and the fluid way that he commands the stage, like he’s melting into the song itself.

 

"He’s really hot, isn’t he?” Irene shouts at him, pointing at Taemin. “He’s so good on stage, I’m not sure if I want to dance or just watch him the entire time.”

 

Jongin wipes at the sweat beading on his forehead and nods. “He’s amazing.”

 

Jongin lets the music wash over him in a blur, Manhwa transitioning from one song to another. Taemin never stops to address the crowd directly, opting instead to throw his voice and energy into his performance, dancing and singing with so much energy and grace that it looks like he’s wringing his body dry.

 

And almost as suddenly as they started, Manhwa’s set ends with a sharp gasp, the music nearly reaching a climax and then breaking off right before the crescendo. The lights on stage cut out all at once in one last bright flash, shrouding the stage in darkness and the audience explodes into an outraged, euphoric applause. Jongin finds himself screaming along with the rest, his fists thrust above his head in indignation. He’s drenched in sweat, his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his back. He feels dizzy with energy and excitement, his skin buzzing with the racing electricity of the show.  

 

The audience is cheering, stomping, screaming _“one more song, one more song_ ” as Manhwa files off stage. Jongin screams along with them. He knows, and the crowd knows, that this is the end of the set, that the night is over, but he wants more. He wants to feel the music again. He wants to watch Taemin again.

 

The floor lights ease back on and Jongin looks around. Irene has tied her hair up, a messy bun pulling her long hair away from her sweaty neck. Baekhyun has an arm around her shoulder, grinning.

 

“That was _amazing_ ,” Baekhyun exclaims. “That was probably the most fun I’ve ever had at a show.” He smirks at Jongin. “Even you have to agree with me, Jongin. You were actually dancing, not that little two step that you like to do when you don’t want anyone to pay attention to you.”

 

Jongin feels himself blush and he ducks his head. “It was fun,” he says. “Manhwa is really good.”

 

“And they’re also inviting us backstage,” Irene says, looking at her phone. “I just got a text from Yeri. She says that we should come back and say hi.”

 

“Oh yep, yes, we’re going.” Baekhyun grabs Jongin and Irene by the wrist and starts pulling them through the dispersing crowd. It’s surprisingly easy to get backstage--there’s no security and the pockmarked metal door is unlocked.

 

“Yeri!” Irene shouts once they cross the threshold. Yeri looks up from where she’s packing away her bass and runs over to them, throwing her arms around Irene.

 

“You made it!”

 

Jongin tunes out the girls as they dissolve into giggling conversation and looks around the cramped space, fatigue finally settling in as all of his earlier adrenaline seeps out of his body.

 

The entire space isn’t much bigger than Jongin’s bedroom--there’s a beat up couch pushed against a wall and a rickety looking card table covered in empty water bottles squished next to it. And it’s _loud_ ; the sounds of clacking and zipping and yelling as Manhwa scurries around, packing up their instruments; Chanyeol’s laughing shout when Baekhyun goes over to him, wrapping his arms around his middle; the harried ushering of the Black Hat staff, fruitlessly trying to hurry the group along.

  


“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Jongin turns around and sees Keyboard Guy standing behind him, hefting a backpack over his shoulder. He has a kind face, soft and open, and he’s smiling at Jongin.

 

“It is,” Jongin replies. “It’s so hectic.”

 

Keyboard Guy nods, his earrings swinging with the dip and rise of his head. “Yeah, the post-show adrenaline always makes us kind of manic.” He holds out one hand. “I’m Yixing, by the way.”

 

“Jongin.” Yixing’s handshake is firm and warm.

 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Yixing asks. “Or are you just here by association?”

 

“Here by association.” Jongin gestures in the direction of Baekhyun and Chanyeol. “I’m friends with Baekhyun and Irene.”

 

Yixing tips his head back and laughs. “Oh shit, Baekhyun? I haven’t even met the guy yet but I feel like I know so much about him. Chanyeol won’t shut up about him.”

 

“Thank god,” Jongin replies, rolling his eyes, “‘Cause Baekhyun talks about Chanyeol more than he talks about himself and that’s saying something.”

 

Yixing’s smile widens. “They must be made for one another.” He laughs again.

 

“Yixing, have you seen--” Red Lipstick comes up behind Yixing looking flustered, her face in her phone. She stops when she sees Jongin. “Oh! Hi. But Yixing, have you seen Taemin?”

 

“He’s out back smoking or something.” Yixing takes a step back and pulls Red Lipstick forward. “Jongin, this is Seulgi, our guitarist. Seulgi, this is Jongin. He’s a friend of a friend of Yeri’s and--” Yixing quirks an eyebrow and lowers his voice conspiratorially, “--Baekhyun’s.”

 

Up close, Seulgi is earth-stoppingly pretty. The red of her lipstick plays up the thick blackness of her hair, and her bangs highlight the sharp slope of her eyes and the cut of her cheekbones.

 

“Nice to meet you,” she says. She looks back down at her phone. “Yixing, are you gonna come by ours once we wrap up? I think we’re all going to chill there for a bit.” She looks at Jongin. “You’re invited too. I think Yeri and Irene are going to go too.”

 

Yixing shakes his head. “No, I’m gonna go home. I have a shift in the morning.”

 

Seulgi sticks her tongue out. “Gross.”

 

Chanyeol comes over then, Baekhyun right next to him.

 

“Is Yixing telling you that he can’t come out cause he has to work again?” Chanyeol asks, his deep voice light with a teasing tone.  He nods at Jongin in recognition.

 

Seulgi rolls her eyes. “Of course he is.”

 

“I have to work,” Yixing says, his eyes remorseful. “I can’t help it.”

 

“You can help it,” Chanyeol shoots back in a tone that reminds Jongin entirely too much of Baekhyun when he’s being difficult. “You can get a different fucking job.”

 

Baekhyun snickers.

 

Yixing crosses his arms. “I can’t! I actually like this job, so I’m not quitting.”

 

“Whatever, be lame.” Seulgi turns to Chanyeol and Baekhyun. “You two are coming over, right?”

 

Baekhyun nods immediately. “Hell yeah. So is Jongin.”

 

Jongin is about to protest when he sees Taemin come in through the door, all of his words withering on his tongue.

 

“You were looking for me?” Taemin walks up to Seulgi, wearing a huge sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head. He doesn’t even glance in Jongin’s direction.

 

Seulgi scowls at him. “Yes, you asshole.

 

Jongin opens his mouth again to turn them down but Taemin turns and looks at him, making direct eye contact. Jongin feels his entire face heat up.

 

“Um,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll come over too.”

 

Baekhyun flashes a knowing smile at Jongin. “Awesome,” he says.

 

\----

 

As it turns out, Seulgi and Taemin live together in a group house in Columbia Heights. The group leaves the Black Hat in two cars;  Jongin catching a ride in an Uber with Irene and Yeri and Seulgi while Taemin, Chanyeol, and Baekhyun pile into Taemin’s car that doubles as the band’s equipment van.

 

It’s well past one am when they all make it inside the house. Taemin immediately goes upstairs, saying something about taking a shower and Seulgi ushers the rest of them into the basement.

 

The basement is bigger and neater than Jongin would have expected. The first thing that he notices is the electric piano with sheet music strewn around on the bench. There are two matching green plaid print couches facing a mounted big screen television and there’s a black wooden coffee table in the middle of the floor. A guy in a red hoodie and black track pants is sitting on one of the couches with his laptop open and his socked feet propped up on the table’s edge.

 

He looks up when he sees them come down.

 

“Hey, Seulgi,” he says, nodding at her. “And hey Chanyeol, Yeri.”

 

“Why are you still up, Minho?” Seulgi sits down on the couch opposite Minho and Chanyeol and Baekhyun squish in next to her. Irene and Yeri sit next to Minho and, left with nowhere to go, Jongin perches on the armrest directly next to Minho.

 

“Trying to finish up a paper,” Minho replies, not looking up from his computer.

 

“Do you want drinks?” Seulgi says. She gets up and goes over to a mini fridge that Jongin hadn’t noticed earlier, and takes out two six-packs of Miller Light, handing them out. Jongin shakes his head no when Seulgi tries to pass one his way. She shrugs and takes it for herself, popping it open.

 

“You’re not drinking?” Minho asks him.

 

“Nah,” Jongin shakes his head again. “It’s too late for me.”

 

He smiles at him and toasts him anyways with his own beer. “Makes sense, but between you and me, I’m kind of into late night beers.”

 

Jongin laughs in reply. Seulgi has started pumping music through a bluetooth speaker, something mellow and RnB sounding and she, Yeri, and Irene are looking at something on Yeri’s phone and laughing and Baekhyun is cuddled close to Chanyeol, his legs stretched across the other man’s lap.

 

“I’m Minho,” he starts up again.

 

“Jongin.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” Minho closes his laptop and then shifts, placing it on the coffee table.

 

“Do you live here, too?” Jongin asks.

 

Minho nods. “Yeah. I’ve lived here for about two years now.”

 

“Do you play music too?”

 

Minho makes a face and shakes his head. “Not at all. Taemin and Seulgi are the only ones who do. I can’t really play anything or sing.”

 

“So what do you do instead?” Jongin asks.

 

“I’m finishing up my masters in conflict resolution,” he replies. “At American University. The rest of the time, I work as an intern on for a senator on the Hill.”

 

“Minho is our house adult,” Seulgi says, over hearing them. “He’s the only one with a real job. He takes care of us kids.”

 

Jongin lights up a bit. “What’s your paper on?” he says, trying to draw Minho into conversation.  

 

Minho smiles at him and then launches into a long overview of Forum for Peace and Reconciliation during the Northern Ireland peace process and post-apartheid South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission that Jongin struggles to follow. He finds himself nodding in what he thinks are all the right places until Minho finishes his synopsis. The two of them fall quiet after that and the music and the sounds of conversation fill the space between them. Someone had taken out a joint at some point and it’s being passed from Chanyeol to Yeri, the earthy scent of the smoke hanging heavy in the air and making Jongin’s head swirl. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself but instead, he just succeeds at drawing more smoke into his lungs. Tired and wanting quiet, he excuses himself and steps over Chanyeol’s long, long legs. He makes his way back up the stairs and finds himself in the dimly lit kitchen where the only sounds are the quiet hum of the refrigerator and muffled laughter wafting up from the basement.

 

Jongin takes a glass off of the drying rack and opens the fridge, taking out the water pitcher and filling it all the way before nudging the door shut with his foot. He leans his back against the fridge, letting the back of his head knock against the hard aluminum of the freezer door. His eyes ache from fatigue and he closes his eyes and presses the cool glass against his left cheek, trying to soothe away his exhaustion. He’s so ready to go home. It’s been longest day and, as much fun as he’s had tonight, Jongin is more than ready to go back to his apartment, strip out of his jeans, and fall face down into his pillows.

 

“You alright?”

 

Jongin opens his eyes. Taemin is standing at the kitchen sink, observing him, one hand on his hip, the other one holding an empty glass. He’d changed out of his stage outfit and now is wearing a plain black t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants. His hair is brushed back from his forehead and its dripping wet from his shower,  leaving tiny dark spots on his shoulders that are just visible in the dim kitchen light. He’s studying Jongin with an easy gaze, one eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

 

Suddenly self conscious of how ridiculous he must look, Jongin moves the glass from his cheek to his mouth.

 

“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his water, trying to drown the awkwardness he feels rising up his throat. “I’m fine. Just needed to get away from all the noise downstairs, you know?”

 

Taemin keeps looking at him, his face dispassionate.

 

“I get that,” he says after a minute. “It can be kind of overwhelming when you’re around everyone like that. And my housemates are loud as all hell, especially when you bring alcohol into the equation.” Taemin backs up a bit so that he’s leaning against the counter’s edge, facing Jongin. He crosses his arms, the empty glass still clutched in his left hand.

 

“You were backstage earlier, right?” Taemin asks. “You’re friends with Yeri’s friend? Irene?”

 

Jongin nods. He hadn’t thought that Taemin had noticed him earlier. “Yeah. Irene and I work at the same bar.”

 

Taemin smiles at that. “The Green Line? Hell yeah, I’ve been there a few times, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”

 

“I don’t remember seeing you either.” And Jongin is certain that he would remember.

 

“I’ve only been once or twice, to be honest. And both times were on a Monday night.”

 

Jongin smiles back at him. “That’s why. I only work Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.”

 

“That’s too bad.” Taemin turns away and busies himself with opening a cabinet, taking down a bottle of bourbon, one that Jongin recognizes as the good kind, the same kind that they keep on the top shelf at the Green Line. “I missed out on meeting you.” He fills his glass halfway and leans back against the countertop. “I’m Taemin.”

 

“I know,” Jongin replies before he can think better of it. He feels himself blush. “I mean--I know from earlier.” He downs the rest of his water. “I’m Jongin.”

 

“Jongin.” Taemin says his name slowly, drawing out the vowels like he’s turning the syllables over in his mouth. “I like it.”

 

“You like my name?”

 

“Yeah.” Taemin sips at his bourbon, his eyes steady on Jongin’s face. “It’s nice. It fits you.”

 

“I’ve never really thought about whether or not my name fits me.”

 

“Really? I’ve always thought that some names are given to the wrong people. Like they don’t fit their personalities at all.”

 

“How can you tell whether or not my name fits my personality?” Jongin asks. “You just met me.”

 

Taemin studies him for a moment and then says: “I can just tell. Some people are easy to read.”

 

Jongin’s not sure how he feels about being called easy to read.

 

Taemin holds his hand out and pries Jongin’s glass from his grip.

 

“What are you drinking?” he asks.

 

“Water.”

 

Taemin throws him a half smile and shakes his head.

 

“That’s no fun.” He holds up the bottle of bourbon. “Do you like bourbon?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Jongin doesn’t like bourbon. At all. He almost never drinks hard alcohol and on the rare occasions that he does, he sticks to something mild, like vodka, that he can mix with juice or soda.

 

“Then bourbon it is.”

 

Taemin grins at him and then fills his glass halfway before handing it back. He leans back against the countertop and then raises his glass in a toast.

 

“Cheers.” Taemin takes another sip.  Jongin raises his own glass in response, and takes a sip of his own, the harsh taste of the alcohol immediately burning his tongue. He tries not to wince as he swallows.

 

“Did you like the show?”

 

Jongin nods. “It was amazing. You guys are really good--I don’t think I’ve ever heard music like yours before. And you all have amazing presence, everything about the way that you hold space on stage draws you in.” It’s easy to talk about the performance, even with Taemin. Manhwa is exciting and Jongin can’t help but let his enthusiasm bleed out.

 

Taemin raises his eyebrows. “That’s probably the most technical compliment we’ve ever gotten.” He narrows his eyes at Jongin. “You a reviewer for a newspaper or something?”

 

Jongin blushes and shakes his head. “No,” he replies, rubbing at the back of his neck self consciously. “I just spend a lot of time thinking about performance. I used to be a dancer.”

 

“Used to? Not anymore?”

 

Jongin shakes his head again. “Not anymore. Bad ankle injury.”

 

“Damn. I’m sorry.” Taemin’s face collapses with genuine concern. “I used to be a dancer too.”

 

Jongin recalls the graceful way that Taemin moved across the stage. “I can tell,” he says. “Why’d you stop?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I got bored with it.”

 

Jongin raises his eyebrows at him. “I can’t even imagine getting bored of dancing. I’d still be doing it if I could.” He sighs. “Now I’m just stuck on the sidelines.”

 

“So what do you do on the sidelines?”  Taemin slides down to the tiled kitchen floor, his back against the cabinets, his legs splayed out in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, Jongin slides down across from him, folding his legs underneath him.

 

Taemin has an intense stare, like he’s concentrating all of his attention and energy into his conversation with Jongin. And it’s. . . different. It’s a bit unsettling, the undivided attention, and Jongin finds himself snapping back into full sharp, alertness.

 

“I think about the stage instead,” Jongin responds. “I like about how performance can be a tool.”

 

Taemin leans forward a bit, his body coming closer. “That’s different.”

 

Jongin can’t help but smile a bit. “I’m in grad school,” he clarifies. “I study post war Korea, particularly the music from that time. And how the performance of music from that period reflected a change in Korea as society worked through the end of Japanese colonialism and the new American presence.”

 

Taemin stares at Jongin blankly for a moment and then shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to dumb that all the way down for me.”

 

Jongin feels himself flush and he hastily takes another drink of his bourbon, draining the glass. Baekhyun is always getting on him for speaking in “PhD student” whenever he talks about his work. He tries to keep it reigned in, but Jongin is aware that he’s too wrapped up in his research to really break it down for normal people.

 

“I’m interested in the new types of music that came around after the end of the Korean War,” Jongin says, starting over. “And how the way that that music sounds and the ways that that music was performed revealed things about the way that South Korea was coping with the changes and pain that came along with having gone through Japanese colonialism, two major wars, and then an increased American presence in a pretty short amount of time.” He winces a bit, hoping that he hasn’t completely lost Taemin.

 

But Taemin quirks his mouth and nods, studying Jongin with a furrowed brow.

 

“So that’d be like trot, right?” He asks. “That’s from the fifties, isn’t it?”

 

Jongin immediately feels lighter. Taemin gets it. “Right. Lots of trot, like Patti Kim. I’m also currently working on a project on the Kim Sisters since they were pretty popular in the U.S. around that time.”

 

Taemin sits back and drinks from his glass. “Interesting,” he says. “That’s super cool. I would have never thought that you could even study music like that.” He makes a face. “Especially trot music. Whenever I think of trot, I just think of my grandmother.”

 

Jongin laughs. “It is grandma music, isn’t it?” He feels himself starting to relax. Talking about his research always puts him at ease. “But it tells an entire story--all of it. From the way the music sounds to the way that the performers were on stage. _Especially_ the way the performers were on stage. Performances transform songs from just being music into something with a personality. Into something with importance, with a history, or with a purpose. I’m into trying to understand what the performer is trying to say when the audience walks away from the stage, kind of what the audience takes away when the lights go down. What the entire story is, you know?”

 

Taemin’s face splits into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corner with the same type of mischievous joy that had pulled Jongin in when he first saw the other man up on stage.

 

“So what story is Manhwa telling when we’re on stage?” Taemin asks him. He gets up and snags the bourbon bottle from the cabinet. He sits back down and refills his glass before taking Jongin’s own from where he’d left it sitting next to him on the floor, filling it as well.

 

Jongin thinks about the fluid way that Taemin moved across the stage, the thick sensuality that radiated from the band and clung to the audience, the coy looks that Taemin tossed on to the floor and Jongin feels his heart speed up.  Jongin takes a long sip of his drink, downing half of it.

 

“I don’t think I know just yet,” he says, avoiding eye contact with Taemin. “I’ve only seen you guys once. And I’ve only heard your stuff live. I think I have to listen to your music just by itself first.”

 

“Hmmm,” Taemin says. “Well it sounds like you’re going to have to come see us play again.” Jongin chances a look at Taemin and sees that he’s smiling at him again. “I think I’d like to find out what you think.” Taemin drains his glass and then pours himself another. He reaches over and tops up Jongin’s drink.

 

Jongin can feel the bourbon start to hit him, the alcohol sinking  into his blood and blurring the edges of his consciousness. He feels warm and he finally starts to fully relax into his conversation with Taemin, feeling a slow type of comfort wash over him. Emboldened, Jongin looks directly at Taemin, taking in, really taking in, the details of his face. He’d washed off all his stage makeup in the shower and he looks younger, softer. He’s almost _pretty_ up close, Jongin realizes. Not just in his face, which is an alluring blend of delicate and hard, masculine and feminine, but also in the neat way that he’s arranged his body on the floor--his legs long in the way that they’re stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, the almost prim way that he holds his glass between his thumb and forefinger, so loosely that it looks like it’ll drop from his hand at any moment and shatter on the floor. Taemin watches Jongin study him, his eyes tracking Jongin’s own. Taemin remains silent, but his full, pretty mouth twists upwards in a subtle smirk.

 

The words are out of Jongin’s mouth before he can stop himself: “You’re really pretty.”   _Fuck_. He bites his tongue, hard.

 

Taemin doesn’t seem to mind and instead tips his head back and laughs. Even his laugh is nice.

 

“You’re not the first person to tell me I’m pretty,” Taemin replies. “And you’re quite pretty yourself, Jongin.” Taemin’s eyes stay steady on Jongin as Taemin brings his glass up to his lips, swallowing the last of his bourbon.

 

Jongin feels himself blush and he’s grateful for the kitchen’s darkness.

 

“What?” Taemin says, his voice low. “Have you never had someone tell you that you’re pretty?” He pauses for a moment and then he says, his voice dropping even lower: “Or is this the first time that you’ve ever told another man that you think they’re pretty?”

 

Jongin’s face gets even hotter. Maybe he is easy to read.

 

“Yes,” Jongin replies, his voice wobbling as it drops low to match Taemin’s tenor. “Well, no.”

 

“And?” Taemin says. He’s still looking directly at Jongin. “Which one is it? Yes? No?”

 

And Jongin’s not sure. He’s had people tell him that he’s hot, that he’s good looking. But not pretty. And there have been plenty of men that he’s found attractive. But he’s never complimented them, never told them. And aside from a drunken make out here and there, he’s never really acted on any of his attractions.

 

But something about Taemin makes Jongin think that all of that could change in a major way.

 

“I’m not really sure,” Jongin says finally.

 

Taemin puts his glass down and then leans forward, placing one hand on Jongin’s knee. His hand is so warm and Jongin’s mouth opens slightly as he feels its heat seep through his jeans and into his skin.

 

“Well then let me be the first to tell you, officially,” Taemin whispers, he makes eye contact with Jongin, that same mischief dancing in his eyes. “You’re very pretty.” Taemin’s rove over Jongin’s torso and Jongin feels his breath catch. “More than just pretty. But I’ll stop there for now.”

 

Taemin leans back until his back is up against the wall again. He picks up the nearly empty bottle of bourbon and empties the last of the alcohol into his glass. He takes a sip.

 

Jongin exhales and drains his glass.

 

\----

 

“Well. This is different.”

 

Jongin groans and cracks open one eye and the details of his living room blur into focus; coffee table littered with textbooks and empty mugs, the battered old rug lining the floor, the bright afternoon light coming in from the window, Sehun posted up against the wall, sipping from a large iced coffee, eyeing him bemusedly.

 

Jongin sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. He can feel the grooves of the imprint from where the thick weave of the sofa pressed into his cheek.

 

“What time is it?” he croaks at Sehun. His throat feels cottony with that specific dryness that always seems to follow a long night of drinking.

 

“It’s three p.m.” Sehun says, taking his phone out of his pocket. “You’ve been passed out of the couch since I left for class this morning.” His lips quirk up in a half smile. “It’s kinda cute.”

 

“ _Shit_.” Jongin springs up from the couch, and his knees buckle at the sudden movement, his lingering hangover making him unsteady. “Fuck, I slept through class!” He sits back down and gropes around the cushions for his phone.

 

“You definitely did.” Sehun slurps obnoxiously on his coffee. “I tried to wake you up before I left this morning, but you wouldn’t budge. So I figured I’d just leave you here to sleep it off.”

 

“Goddammit, Sehun. What fucking good are you as a roommate if you don’t wake me up for class?” He locates his phone. 16 texts and a missed call from his thesis advisor. _Fuck_.

 

Sehun makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. “Excuse me, I’m a great fucking roommate because I let you sleep off your hangover instead of dragging your half-drunk ass into the shower. You need to appreciate me.”

 

“I’ll appreciate you when you actually _help me out_ ,” Jongin mutters under his breath as he scrolls through his texts. Most of them are from Baekhyun, updating him on the various parts of his day and asking Jongin if he wants to get lunch and then asking him if he’s alright after he gets no response. Two are from Irene, asking if he made it home alright after the night at Taemin’s. And two are from a new number.

 

**(11:23) taemin:** glad i got to meet u last nite.

**(11:35) taemin:** i still want to know what story u think we’re telling.

 

“Oh my god,” Jongin says, staring at his phone. “Oh my god.”

 

Sehun comes over and looks over his shoulder reading his texts.

 

“‘Story we’re telling?’” he reads. “What weird nerdy shit were you up to last night? And who’s Taemin?”

 

Jongin gapes at his phone, trying to piece together the last few parts of his night. His memory is spotty through the haze of his hangover but he clings to a glimpse of himself sitting across of Taemin on the kitchen floor, still blushing from Taemin’s brazen flirting. The conversation had eventually floated towards tamer territory and Taemin drew him into a conversation about the types of books that Jongin read for his studies. Taemin had listened to every word Jongin said with unwavering attention, asking questions in all of the right places and putting Jongin at ease as he drunkenly stumbled through an explanation of the ethnomusicology text that he was currently working his way through. Irene and Baekhyun found him about an hour later, saying that they had called an Uber to take them home. Jongin remembers nodding and staggering to his feet and having Taemin reach his hand out, asking for Jongin’s phone. Jongin handed it over to him and watched as Taemin entered his number before handing it back to him.

 

“I texted myself,” he said. “So I have yours too. I’ll let you know when we play another show.”

 

Jongin’s fingers hover over the keyboard as he struggles to find a way to reply.

 

“Taemin is. . .” Jongin starts. “He’s just this guy I met last night.”

 

Sehun scoffs. “Well obviously.” He sits down next to Jongin, his knee banging into Jongin’s own. “But based on the way you’re gawking at your phone, I’m guessing that there’s more to it than that.”

 

Jongin puts his phone down to glare at Sehun. “Do you always have to be so nosy?”

 

Sehun grins at him and shrugs. “I’m a psychology major. It’s my job to notice these things.”

 

Jongin rolls his eyes and gets up from the sofa. The rooms spins a bit and he takes a deep breath, trying to will himself to calm down.

 

“I’m not engaging in this conversation,” he replies, woodenly. “I’m gonna go shower, I have to at least try to do some homework before my shift tonight.”

 

“Drink water!” Sehun calls after him and Jongin shuffles down the hall.

 

Jongin emerges fully dressed from the bathroom about an hour later, feeling way more human. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, downing the entire thing in one long drink. He leans against the countertop and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He finally replies to Baekhyun and Irene, reassuring them that he’s fine and telling Irene that he’ll see her at the Green Line later. He thumbs down his list of alerts and then hovers over the two texts from Taemin. It shouldn’t be this hard to respond. He and Taemin hadn’t done anything other than just talk last night and it had been a normal conversation, comfortable and barely crossing the line into flirting. But for some reason, Jongin finds himself hesitating. He re-reads the first text. _glad i got to meet u last nite_ . It’s innocuous enough, sweet enough. But Jongin can’t help but shake the feeling that nothing about Taemin is quite what it seems. That everything he says or does has a specific purpose, that each action has a particular role to play. _glad i got to_ Is Taemin glad? Or is he trying to get at something else? _meet u_ Did their alcohol soaked conversation even really count as a real meeting? Jongin bites his lip and already hears Baekhyun’s voice in the back of his head, telling him that he’s overthinking something simple and easy. _A guy calls you pretty_ once _and you lose your shit? Who cares if Taemin is asking for something more? What if he is flirting? Who cares if you flirt back?_

 

_I care_ , Jongin thinks to himself. It’s not like him to want someone like this, not like him to act on his own attractions. It’s hard, it’s always been hard for him--women and men. Especially with men. Men are. . . new for him. A new territory in a forbidden land that he’d only just given himself permission to explore. He’d always _liked_ men, that had always been an undeniable truth that ran parallel to his desire for women. But it had been a truth that he’d chosen to ignore, one that he had been afraid to acknowledge, one that he’d thrust behind hours spent dancing as a kid and as a teenager, and later, behind books and tests and papers. It’s not like he’d been afraid of rejection--his parents and sisters are as open minded as he could have ever hoped for, his friends back home are chill, and L.A. is as liberal as any city could ever be. Instead, Jongin had always been afraid of acknowledging the full complications of his own duality--the things about himself that made him _more_ than everyone else around him. More complicated, more different; thrusting him outside of an easy normalcy that he had always craved. He had been a weird kid, bookish and shy, more interested in dancing than playing basketball or video games like the other boys his age. And in return, his classmates had teased him, always pestering him for being different, biting into him for being odd. The ridicule had died down as he had gotten older, but the wounds still stung and there was nothing else that Jongin wanted than to be normal, point blank. And for a long time, bisexuality didn’t quite fit into that definition. He’d only just come out last year, when he’d moved all the way across the country and met Baekhyun with his loud personality, brash and unapologetic in his queerness. And Jongin had finally decided-- _ok, I can do this too. I can be my whole self_. Which, so far had gone over fine with everyone he had told, and he’d felt a new type of liberation in every boy that he had kissed. But that’s all he’s ever done. No dates, no boyfriends. Few girlfriends. Just a kiss. The only problem is that this time, with Taemin, Jongin feels like Taemin might want more than just one kiss.

 

And judging by the way that Taemin had set his blood on fire after just one night, Jongin feels like he might just want to give Taemin as much as he wants.

 

Jongin exhales hard and shakes his head at his own rambling mind. He opens the text dialogue box and texts Taemin back.

 

**(16:20) jongin:** glad i got to meet u too!

 

And then:

 

**(16:21) jongin:** i think i might need more source material if u want me to figure out ur story.

 

There. Maybe a bit awkward, but at least he responded. Jongin slips his phone into his sweater pocket and then heads to his bedroom to grab his books.

 

He gets a response just as he’s boarding the metro three hours later.

 

**(19:38)** **taemin:** here’s part 1 of ur source material.

 

Jongin sits down in an empty seat and clicks on the soundcloud link. He pulls his headphones over his ears just as the first song starts. He closes his eyes, hugs his backpack to his chest, and leans against the window glass and lets the music fill him.

 

“You’re late,” Junmyeon says, shooting Jongin a disgruntled look when he comes through the door.

 

Jongin glances at the time on his phone. “By like 10 minutes, Junmyeon. That’s hardly late.”

 

“It’s late enough,” Joy says from where she’s slicing limes. Jongin had forgotten that she was working tonight. “I’m stuck on lime duty cause someone decided to show up after his shift started.”

 

Jongin pulls a face at her and goes to the back to stash his backpack in his locker. Irene accosts him the minute he comes back out.

 

“So,” she says, her hands on her hips.

 

“So what?” Jongin grabs a clean glass from the shelf and busies himself with the customers. It’s packed tonight and the bar is full of people wearing Capitals jerseys, all here to grab a quick drink before the hockey game starts. It’s playoff season and the D.C. fans are as hopeful as ever.

 

“What’s up with you and Taemin?” Irene presses as she starts measuring out tequila and simple syrup for a margarita.

 

“Absolutely nothing?” Jongin says. “I barely talked to him last night. Nothing can be ‘up’ after a short conversation.”

 

“Things can definitely be ‘up’ after a short conversation,” Joy chimes in. Leave it to her to be eavesdropping. Jongin pins her with an exasperated stare.

 

“You were talking all night,” Irene counters. “And he gave you his number. So that’s up.”

 

Jongin sighs. Irene can be worse than Baekhyun.

 

“That’s all. We swapped numbers. I swap numbers with lots of people that I meet. _You_ swap numbers with lots of people that you meet. It’s just part of our modern day social code.”

 

Realizing that she won’t be getting any more information out of Jongin, Irene rolls her eyes.

 

“I expect updates,” Irene huffs as she places two margaritas on the bar and moves to the other end of the bar.

 

“I won’t have any!” Jongin calls after her. And then he falls into the rhythm of his shift.

 

The rest of his shift passes in a blur, Jongin bouncing from customer to customer, snagging empty glasses, refilling beers, opening and closing tabs. By the time eleven p.m. rolls around, he’s exhausted, and his feet are aching from standing for the better part of four hours.

 

“You headed out?” Junmyeon asks when he sees Jongin walk around to the front of the bar, backpack slung over his right shoulder.

 

“Yeah. I’m all done for the night.”

 

Junmyeon nods. “See you next week.”

 

Jongin waves goodbye to Irene and Joy and then pushes through the door and into the cool, late night air. The street near Green Line is mostly empty and Jongin makes his way up the side street and turns on to 7th street. There are a few people wandering around, mostly disgruntled Caps fans leaving the Capital One Center, sulking after another devastating loss. It’s a nice night, the chill that had threaded through the air last night gone, replaced with a soft and warm humidity. He likes nights like this, when the city has dimmed to a quiet murmur. He feels more at ease. Jongin starts humming to himself, letting his voice mingle with the sounds of a city falling asleep. It starts off as a tuneless, wandering melody but then he finds himself humming the bassline of the Manhwa song. Snippets of the song--the chorus, the first verse, the bass line--had worked their way into Jongin’s head, playing back beat to his shift all night. Jongin stops at a crosswalk and pulls his headphones out of his backpack and takes his phone out of his pocket. He still has the song open and he presses play again. The song starts, with the same juddering atmospheric hook that had pulled Jongin in when he first listened to the song on the way to work. It has a completely different feel from the songs that he’d watched Manhwa perform last night--it’s softer and Taemin’s voice is hazier, and the melody pulls at something in Jongin, triggering a deep longing.

 

The song ends just as Jongin taps through the metro turnstiles and he restarts it again and then again while he stands on the platform waiting for the next train. He has the words almost memorized when he finally boards a train car. The metro is just about empty at this hour and Jongin sits down in a window seat and plops his backpack in the aisle seat. He takes out his phone and sends Taemin a text.

 

**(23:33) jongin:** i think u might be telling a story about desire.

 

He gets a response almost immediately.

 

**(23:34) taemin:**  u get that from that one song?

**(23:35) jongin:** that’s what i have so far. but manhwa has a lot of songs.

**(23:35) taemin:** we do have a lot of source material.

**(23:36) taemin:** here’s another.

 

Jongin clicks on the link and turns it up, letting the blend of Taemin’s voice and Manhwa’s complex melodies tell him its story.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days pass by at their usual pace. Jongin goes to class, he goes to work. He studies for his upcoming comprehensive exams. He goes to the gym with Sehun. He meets with his thesis advisor. He meets up with Baekhyun for lunch and drinks. He listens to Baekhyun talk about Chanyeol. He does research. He does homework.

 

And he texts Taemin.

 

**(9:39) jongin:**  ok so that last one wasn’t really about desire.

**(10:08) taemin:** u don’t think so?

**(10:11) jongin:** no. but i’m not sure that i know what it’s about yet.

**(10:14) taemin:** well. take ur time. i want to know what u think.

 

Taemin keeps sending him songs, some complete, some still in their rough demo stages. And Jongin listens to each one, turning the song over in his head, trying to stitch the words and melody together into a full picture. 

 

**(17:43) jongin:** maybe the reason why i cant figure out ur story is because im missing something.

 

Talking to Taemin became easy. Taemin texts with the same gentle intensity that he had shown Jongin during their night on the kitchen floor. He shows genuine interest in Jongin’s impressions of Manhwa’s music, always asking  _ why _ and wanting to know  _ more _ . He wants to know exactly which parts of each song strike Jongin, what images first come to mind when Jongin first listens to the songs. And Jongin finds it easy to respond, easy like writing a paper, like discussing the latest part of his research with his advisor. 

 

**(18:03) taemin:** what else do u think u need?

**(18:12) jongin:** i need to do more research.

 

\----

 

“You do know that this is the weirdest type of flirting ever? Like even for you?” It’s Tuesday night and Baekhyun is stationed at the bar again, sipping at an IPA. 

 

“We’re not flirting, Baekhyun,” Jongin replies. “We’re just texting.” Jongin had eventually been forced to acknowledge his texts with Taemin when he had forgotten to silence his phone when he and Baekhyun were studying together last Sunday. Baekhyun, being Baekhyun, had snatched the phone from Jongin and seen their texts about “source material”. Jongin ended up telling him everything.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Jongin takes it out. It’s another text from Taemin.

 

**(20:06) taemin:** i dont have any other demos to send u.

**(20:06) taemin:**  i might have to try something else.

 

Baekhyun snatches the phone out of Jongin’s hand and reads the texts aloud.

 

“Quit it!” Jongin leans over the bar and reclaims his phone from a snickering Baekhyun.

 

“It’s  _ weird _ , Jongin. It’s like sexting but instead of dick pics you’re getting off on ‘source material’ or whatever.”

 

Jongin flushes red. “We’re just talking!” he defends. “Like normal people. Like friends.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “To be honest, Jongin, you wouldn’t know flirting if Taemin texted ‘I’M TRYING TO GET YOU IN MY BED’ to you in all caps.”

 

“You’re being dramatic.”

 

Baekhyun leans back in his chair.

 

“Maybe. But I’m being honest.” He drains his beer.  “Look, Jongin, I know I’m being silly but I’m just trying to let you know that it’s alright for you to pursue something with Taemin.” Baekhyun’s face twists with concern. “I know that you haven’t dated anyone since you moved out here and that you came out as queer only a year ago, but this might be  _ good _ . Just, like, run with it. See where it takes you.”

 

Jongin exhales and takes Baekhyun’s empty glass, opting to refill it instead of responding. He’s not scared of falling in with Taemin. At least he doesn’t think he is. He’s not really even sure that he knows what he wants--if he wants more from this ongoing banter or if he just wants to keep being held at arm’s distance, only communicating through song links and texts. He’s not even sure if Taemin is interested in him. But he knows that Baekhyun is probably right. That he probably is hiding behind this quasi-academic back and forth and is probably trying to shield himself from something more.

 

He hands Baekhyun his fresh beer. “Maybe I will,” Jongin says. “Just see where it takes me.”

 

Baekhyun smiles at Jongin, one of his sweet, innocent smiles that he uses whenever someone admits that he’s right.

 

“I approve,” he says. 

 

Baekhyun changes the subject and starts sharing the latest gossip in the Physics department, about how one of the other students in his lab is in danger of getting thrown out of the department for foraging data. Jongin nods along as he wipes down the counter, humming in outrage in all the right places.

 

“It’s wild though,” Baekhyun says, crossing his arms. “I don’t know how you could fake results and not expect someone to find out. And it fucks up the work for everyone else in lab cause now everything we’ve done is being called into question.” He groans. “And I’ve spent  _ weeks _ on my project! I know it’s right.” He pouts.

 

“These are not problems that we have in the East Asian Studies world.” Jongin pours himself a glass of water. They sip at their drinks quietly, watching Joy and Irene putter back and forth, serving the handful of customers in the bar. It’s another slow night and Jongin is grateful that he doesn’t have much to do.

 

There’s movement at the door and Jongin hears Irene call out excitedly. He cuts his eyes over and sees Chanyeol leaning over the bar to give Irene a hug and--- _ shit. _ Taemin is standing behind Chanyeol, looking around Green Line with disinterested eyes. 

 

“Chanyeol!” Baekhyun shouts, waving him over. Chanyeol breaks away from Irene and bounds over towards Jongin and Baekhyun, looking eerily like an excited puppy.

 

“Baekhyun!” Chanyeol leans down and kisses Baekhyun on cheek and Jongin watches as his friend turns pink and  _ beams _ up at the other man. Somehow, in the short time since they went to see Manhwa at the Black Hat, the two of them have transitioned from being ridiculous to being ridiculously disgustingly cute.

 

“Hey.” Taemin walks up to Jongin and puts both hands on the bartop dividing them, leaning forward. Taemin’s hair is styled so that his bangs are hanging down into his eyes and he’s looking at Jongin with sharp eyes cutting through the fringe.

 

Jongin swallows, feeling the weight of Taemin’s gaze on him. “Hey to yourself.”

 

Taemin smiles at him. “When Chanyeol said that he was going to head to the Green Line, I said that I’d tag along. I was hoping that I’d actually catch you here this time.”

 

Jongin takes a clean glass down from the shelf, just to give himself something to do.

 

“Looks like you caught me,” he replies. He turns the glass around in his hands. “What can I get you?”

 

Taemin moves over to examine the beers on tap. He turns his head and Jongin can see the three silver studs earrings adoring his left ear, glinting at him in the Green Line’s low light.

 

“The Pilsner, I guess?” Taemin reaches out and taps the top of the tap handle.

 

“The Pilsner it is.” Jongin fills the glass and then slides it across the bar to Taemin. It feels weird, like an inverse of their night on the kitchen floor--Jongin serving Taemin--and it feels more distant, with the bar top dividing them and the hundreds of texts between them. Jongin’s not quite sure how to talk to him, he’s not really sure what Taemin wants.

 

Taemin perches himself on to a bar stool and then takes a sip, closing his eyes as he swallows.

 

“You still on the clock?” Taemin asks.

 

“More or less. I’m here until eleven.” Jongin replies. “But it’s really slow tonight, so there’s not a ton for me to do.”

 

“Play me in a game of pool?” Taemin nods in the direction of the vacant pool table. “I’ll even buy you a drink.” Taemin’s voice is coy and he lifts one eyebrow at Jongin, as if daring him to say no.

 

It’s been a while since Jongin last played pool--last time, he’d played a game of cutthroat against Sehun and Baekhyun and lost miserably. He’s not sure that he’ll fair much better against Taemin. 

 

Jongin wipes his damp palms on his pants and nods.

 

“Alright,” he says, trying to match Taemin’s tone. “But I’m not drinking this time. My pool skills are questionable as it is and you nearly killed me last week.”

 

Taemin laughs, shaking his head and he stands up and starts walking towards the pool table. “I feel like the polite thing for me to do is apologize, but I’m not going to.”

 

Jongin hops over the bar top in exactly the way that always makes Junmyeon yell at him and then follows after Taemin to the back of the bar. He catches Baekhyun’s eye as he walks past and his friend gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I doubt that I would have been able to get your number if you hadn’t been as drunk as you were.”

 

Jongin doesn’t quite know how to respond. Instead, he watches as Taemin puts his beer down on the wooden edge of the pool table and then turns around to select a pool cue from the rack on the wall. He’s wearing a thin white t-shirt under a worn black leather jacket and Jongin can see the way his thighs strain against the light blue denim of his jeans. He looks  _ good _ , his body seems longer tonight, more lithe.

 

“Ah, but now I have a drink and you don’t have anything.” Taemin turns back around, cue in hand and nudges his beer towards Jongin. “Let’s share.”

 

Jongin looks at the way that Taemin is smiling at him, earnest and strong, and he takes the beer from him, taking one small sip. 

 

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Taemin takes the glass from Jongin.

 

“What?”

 

“We started in the middle last time I saw you. We talked, but there’s so much that I don’t know about you,” Taemin clarifies. Jongin watches with wide eyes as he puts his lips on the wet spot that Jongin left behind and takes a deliberate sip. “So this time, we should start all over, start from the very beginning.”

 

Taemin sets up the rack, meticulously stacking the balls inside the black triangle frame. Done, he slides the rack back and forth across the green felt, listening to the balls clack in their places. The jukebox is playing an old RnB song, one that Jongin vaguely recognizes, something soft and heavy with an infectious bass. Taemin sings along under his breath, just low enough that Jongin can only just make out the sound of his voice, and he watches as Taemin’s lips move, shaping each word. 

 

Satisfied with his work, Taemin finally removes the frame and steps back in line with Jongin.

 

“You wanna break?” he asks.

 

Jongin nods and then leans over, lining up the shot. He hits and it’s a clean break, the balls skittering across the table in a thousand directions. He switches sides, lines up the shooter and takes his aim at the red 6 ball.

 

And he scratches. 

 

“I’m not very good at this,” Jongin admits, righting himself. “Pool isn’t really one of my strong points.”

 

“It was a nice break,” Taemin says, smiling at him. “We can find your other strong points later.” He takes another sip of the beer and then hands the glass over. “My turn.”

 

Jongin drinks from the glass and watches as Taemin aims at the yellow 9, his fingers light on the cue, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He bites his bottom lip and takes the shot. It sails cleanly into the pocket.

 

Jongin can already tell that this is going to be a quick game.

 

“So.”  Taemin lines up to shoot at the 11 ball. “The beginning.”

 

“The beginning.” Jongin nods. “What do you want to know?”

 

Taemin hits at the 11 ball but misses. He steps back and takes the beer from Jongin.

 

“Let’s start with the easy questions,” he says as Jongin sets his sights on the same 6 ball from earlier. “How old are you?”

 

“24. My birthday is in January.”

 

“Me too! Kind of. I’m almost 25. My birthday is in July.” 

 

Jongin lines up carefully and hits. The 6 ball actually goes into the pocket and Jongin can’t help but smile to himself.

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“L.A.,” Jongin replies. He sets his sights on the 5 ball. “Born and raised. I went to UCLA for undergrad and hadn’t really left the city until I came out here.”

 

He misses that shot and stands straight. “Your turn.” Jongin reclaims the beer glass and takes a sip.

 

Taemin rechalks the end of his cue and then lines up to hit the ball that Jongin missed.

 

It goes in.

 

“I’m from Northern Virginia,” Taemin says. “Fairfax, mostly. My family moved around the area a lot. I came to D.C. about four years ago.”

 

“Why’d you leave?”

 

Taemin laughs. “Do you know anything about Fairfax?”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “Not really.”

 

“There’s nothing to do there.” Taemin sinks his shot and lines up another. “It’s all suburbs and rich people. I left as soon as I could.” Jongin thinks back to his old neighborhood in L.A. and nods. He thinks he has an idea of what Taemin is talking about. 

 

“Did you go to college in D.C. too?”

 

“Nah.” There’s a clack as Taemin sinks another shot. “I did two years of community college in Virginia and then I moved here.”

 

“What’d you study?”

 

Taemin hops up on the edge of the pool table and angles his body so that he’s hovering over over his next shot. He aims and then his cue glances off the shooter, scratching his shot. He jumps down from the table and swaps spots with Jongin.

 

“Math,” he replies. Taemin drains the beer glass. “I got my associate’s.”

 

Jongin stops and looks at Taemin, impressed. 

 

“Damn. I wouldn’t have taken you for a math person.” Jongin prepares his next shot. “That’s so far beyond my whole entire realm of comprehension.”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I like math,” he says. “I like the puzzles and it’s always made sense to me, ever since I was little.”

 

Jongin makes his shot and then lines up to take another. This one he misses.

 

“Math has never made any sense to me,” Jongin says, remembering his struggles in high school Geometry and Calculus. So many failed tests. “I ran away from it as soon as I could.”

 

Taemin takes his turn.

 

“So what did you study instead?”

 

_ Click _ .

 

“Technically, history. Post-colonial East Asian History. And I minored in theatre.”

 

“So that explains what you were talking about the other night.”  _ Clack _ . “Your research on trot and post-war Korea and performance.”

 

_ Clack _ .

 

“Yeah. My PhD is kind of just a mesh of the stuff I studied in undergrad.”

 

Taemin misses his next shot. There are two balls left on the table.

 

“Your turn.”

 

Jongin rechalks his cue and lines up.

 

“So are you putting your math skills to work now?”

 

He hits his shot.

 

“Not really. I teach piano during the days. I play my own music the rest of the time. Not really math related.”

 

“Doesn’t that feel weird though?” Jongin asks. “To spend all that time studying something and then not use it?”

 

Taemin quirks his mouth and hums in contemplation. “Not really,” he says after a minute. “I mean, math is always going to be there. It’s not like I’m going to lose all my math skills by not using them everyday. And I’m still young. I want to do play around for a little bit longer.” He laughs. “My mom always says that I have issues committing to things. I guess math is one of them.”

 

“So music is you playing around?”

 

Taemin laughs. “Music is me delaying adulthood for a bit longer. It’s fun and I love it. More than anything else. I think I deserve to do what I love for a little bit before I have to sacrifice myself to corporate America.”

 

“I guess I get that.” Jongin turns Taemin’s words over in his head. “Grad school is kind of like that for me. It’s sort of my way of hiding from the real world by staying in school for another seven years.”

 

Jongin rearranges his limbs and then takes the last shot. He watches in disbelief as the ball slides smoothly across the table and sails into the pocket.

 

“I think I won?” he says, turning to Taemin. 

 

Taemin smiles at him, his entire face breaking open wide.

 

“I think you did.” Taemin picks up the empty beer glass and raises it in Jongin’s direction. “Any chance I could get another one?”

 

The smile that stretches across Jongin’s face comes easily. He takes the glass from Taemin. “I think the odds look good.”

 

\---

  
  


“So what are you doing next Saturday?” Jongin is sitting at the bar, perched on the stool next to Taemin. There are three empty beer glasses sitting in between them on the bar top and one more glass, half full with a deep amber IPA nestled amongst them. All the beer has started to go to Jongin’s head and the night has turned soft, all of the apprehension and nervousness that he had originally felt when Taemin had walked into the bar having been washed down with each sip of shared beer.

“Saturday?” Jongin stares at the beer glass, watching the way the bar’s lights refract in the liquid. “Nothing special. Prepping for my comprehensive exams, probably. Homework.”

 

Taemin laughs. “Can I convince you to take a break and come to our next show? For source material.”

 

“Maybe,” Jongin replies. “Probably. Where is it?”

 

“Bleubyrd. In Adams Morgan. It’s only us and an opener so it won’t be as a long of a show as the last one.”

 

Jongin nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll try to make it.”

 

The smile that Taemin gives him makes Jongin’s insides feel like they’re melting.

 

“Cool,” Taemin says. “I’ll text you about the time and stuff.”

 

Taemin drains the last of the beer and gets up.

 

“I think I’m going to go,” he says. He looks over at Chanyeol who’s laughing at whatever Baekhyun is whispering in his ear. “How much do I owe you?”

 

Jongin gapes at him for a minute and then swallows. Shakes his head. 

 

“It’s alright,” he replies. “The drinks are on me. I get a discount.”

 

Taemin tilts his head and smiles at Jongin, his hair swooping gracefully across his forehead.

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

Jongin shrugs and looks up at the other man from where he’s still seated. “It’s only fair. I drank half of everything. And you gave me bourbon last time. I think I can cover your beers.”

 

Taemin places a warm hand on the back of Jongin’s neck and squeezes, gently. Jongin feels all the heat in his body rush to the patch of skin under Taemin’s hand.

 

Taemin bends down and leans in. “The next drinks are on me then,” he says, softly, in Jongin’s ear, the warmth of his words making the fine hairs on Jongin’s neck stand up.

 

“Deal,” Jongin rasps out.

 

Taemin straightens up and smiles at him.

 

“See you.”

 

Jongin watches as he goes over to where Chanyeol and Baekhyun are sitting. He says something to Chanyeol who nods and then shakes his head at him. Chanyeol’s deep voice carries and Jongin can just hear Chanyeol tell Taemin to head out without him. Taemin shrugs and then mockingly salutes Chanyeol and Baekhyun before turning and heading towards the door. Jongin’s eyes trail after him as he crosses the bar and goes out the front door.

 

Taemin doesn’t look back.

 

\---

 

“There are entirely too many people in the world.” Sehun glares at the latest person to jostle his arm, causing him to splash his drink all over his hand. He puts his glass down on the bar and sucks the rum and coke of his fingers.

 

“Your limbs are just entirely too long so you’re constantly in everyone’s way,” Baekhyun shoots back, pinching his elbow.

 

“That’s really fucking funny coming from you,” Sehun deadpans. “Chanyeol’s, what, like six foot three with windmill arms?”

 

“Why are you here again?” Baekhyun scowls up at Sehun. “Why’d we bring you?”

 

“Because of my winning personality and stellar sense of humor.”

 

It’s Jongin’s first time at Bleubyrd. It’s a tiny venue with a shotgun space, longer than it is wide and Jongin feels the crush of bodies crowding him in. They’re off towards the back, close to the bar. The energy is so different from the vibe at Black Hat. It’s an older crowd, the audience edging towards their late twenties, and the atmosphere is weighty and smug with the that type of aloof and self-congratulatory sort of cool that always seems to hang around hipsters. Even though Sehun had spent an hour helping him get dressed, Jongin still doesn’t feel even remotely hip enough to be here.

 

They’re between sets, the opening band, a hip hop electronica duo having finished up nearly thirty minutes ago. The stage techs are fiddling around with mics, rearranging stools, setting up the keyboard, getting everything ready for Manhwa.

 

“Did you let Taemin know that you’re here?” Baekhyun asks him.

 

“I texted him as soon as we got here,” Jongin says, taking his phone out of his pocket. No new texts. He swallows his next breath, trying to tamp down the growing twinge in his throat. “He hasn’t responded.” His voice comes out smaller than he anticipated.

 

Baekhyun consults his own phone. “He’s probably tied up. Chanyeol says that they’re about to go on.”

 

Jongin stares at the phone in Baekhyun’s hand. His own phone suddenly feels much heavier in his pocket.

 

“How’s that going, by the way?” Sehun asks. “You two a thing now?”

 

The look on Baekhyun’s face says it all. “We’re  _ something _ ,” he says. “We’re getting somewhere.”

 

“Better than nowhere.” Sehun shrugs and picks up his cocktail, taking a long sip.

 

“We’re exactly where I want to be,” Baekhyun replies, mischievously. “He was naked in my bed last night and that’s just fine with me.”

 

“And that’s entirely too much information.” Jongin winces. “Filter, Byun, get one.”

 

The overhead lights flash and then dim, bathing  the entire space in a deep blue. The crowd falls quiet as the band walks out on stage. They all come out at once; Seulgi and Yeri holding their instruments, Yixing settling behind the keyboard. There’s no drum set tonight. Chanyeol comes out holding a guitar of his own and sits down on the stool next to Yeri’s own. Taemin trails behind the rest of group, stalking across the stage with a slow, long legged walk. He’s wearing all black--black jeans and a black t-shirt that’s so worn in some parts that it looks translucent even from where Jongin is positioned. He stays standing, going up to the microphone in the middle of the stage, grasping it in both hands.

 

“We’re Manhwa,” he says, his voice as low as it had been the first time that Jongin had seen him on stage. “We’re trying something a little different tonight. Hope you like it.”

 

_ One, two, three _ .

 

It’s a mellow set, more RnB driven than their last one. Yeri’s strong bass lines acting like an anchor throughout each song as Chanyeol and Seulgi weave complicated chords and Yixing holds it all together with melodic piano. And then, of course, there’s Taemin. He doesn’t dance as much this time, opting instead to throw all of his energy into singing. His voice is stronger this way, and he stretches it, hitting notes all over the spectrum, making each song soar. This time, the tenor of Taemin’s voice feels heavier, weighing on Jongin and sinking through his skin, settling deep in his bones. 

 

“Well damn,” Sehun says, his voice soft with awe as Taemin hits a high note. “They’re really good.”

 

“Did you doubt me?” Jongin says, not taking his eyes off the stage where Taemin is gyrating his hips against the mic stand, moving to the beat.

 

“I didn’t.” Jongin watches at Sehun’s eyes rove over the stage, bouncing from Taemin to Chanyeol to Yixing before settling on Yeri. “I knew they’d be good when I saw the way you hum along when you listen to their songs at home. And how your face lights up when Taemin texts you.”

 

Jongin decides to ignore the last comment. 

 

The set finishes and the crowd applauds, cheering and clapping and stomping their feet. Jongin takes his phone out of his pocket again. No new texts.

 

“So do I finally get to meet this Taemin now or what?” Sehun pokes Jongin in the shoulder.

 

Jongin bites his lip and tries to quell the sinking feeling in his chest.

 

“I’m...checking,” he replies. He opens a new text dialogue box.

 

**(0:07) jongin:** im still at bluebyrd u still around?

 

“Still nothing?” Baekhyun peers over Jongin’s shoulder, scanning his phone. 

 

Jongin shakes his head, still worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The twinge is back and its migrated down to his chest, where it squeezes his lungs. 

 

Baekhyun frowns and takes out his own phone. “I’ve gotten a bunch of texts from Chanyeol so far.” He scrolls through them. “Looks like they’re packing up.” He frowns. “Chanyeol says that Taemin has already left?”

 

Jongin’s heart sinks, falling out of his chest and settling deep in his stomach. The uneasiness from earlier swings through him in full force and drags him down, sinking him into a puddle of self doubt. It was dumb of him to get his hopes up about Taemin, even as nascent as they had been. He should have  _ known  _ better, should have known that this would be the logical conclusion to this  _ thing _ , whatever it is, that has been going on between Taemin and him. That Taemin would grow bored with him, that Taemin would treat him as an accessory; cheap and disposable. 

 

“Oh, nope, you’re not doing this right now.” Baekhyun snaps his fingers in front of Jongin’s face and he startles back to attention. 

 

“Not doing what?” Jongin replies. His phone sits silent in his hand and he reluctantly pockets it.

 

“I know that look on your face,” Baekhyun says. “You’re spiraling and thinking about all the reasons why you’re useless and why Taemin abandoned you or whatever. Stop that. That’s stupid and none of it is true and you know it.”

 

“I’m not--”

 

“You are,” Baekhyun insists, Sehun nodding along. “I know you too well and even if I didn’t, your face is way too easy to read. Your thoughts are basically screaming at me.”

 

Sehun slings an arm around Jongin’s shoulders and drags him towards the bar, pushing him down on a stool.

 

“Sit,” Sehun commands. “Whether or not Taemin replies to you is inconsequential if you’re drunk.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to get drunk?” Jongin says, sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

 

“Maybe you don’t, but  _ I _ do,” Baekhyun says, sliding on to the stool next to him.

 

“Aren’t you meeting Chanyeol?” Jongin watches as Sehun leans over the bar to whisper something to the bartender who looks at him incredulously before nodding slowly and turning away to grab empty glasses off the shelf.

 

“Nope,” Baekhyun replies, his voice bright. “He can go one night without me.” He puts a warm hand on Jongin’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Besides,” he says, “I’d rather spend the night with my best friend.”

 

Jongin heart gradually starts its ascent back to his chest. 

 

Jongin stares at the way the dregs of his drink collect at the bottom of the tumbler. Bleubyrd is mostly empty now, the earlier melee from the concert having petered out in the past hour, and now only a handful of people are left, dousing the sound in the bar to a quiet murmur. He picks up the nearly empty glass and drains it, letting the last few drops of alcohol spread across his tongue. Whatever drink Sehun had asked the bartender to make is more alcohol than anything else and it’s all gone to Jongin’s head, numbing his bubbling sadness. It’s not that he had any expectations for tonight, Jongin reminds himself. It’s not like Taemin had  _ promised _ him anything. But it still stings. He still feels the bite of Taemin’s silent rejection, the quick burn of being unacknowledged.

 

His phone lays dormant on the bartop, it’s screen black and, for what feels like fifth time that minute, Jongin presses the home key, hoping that a new notification has arrived. 

 

There’s nothing there.

 

It’s weird, he decides. It’s weird that he’s so caught up over this, that he’d built up this night in his head, built up seeing Taemin after the show, built up getting the next text from him asking his opinion on the show, asking Jongin to give him his latest take on Manhwa’s story. It’s weird that he’s started looking forward to their stupid texts, that he’s fallen so deeply into their stupid game because, really isn’t that all this is? A game? Isn’t Taemin just playing with him, stringing him along until they fuck or until one of them gets bored, whichever comes first? Jongin presses the home key again. No text. And hasn’t Taemin just gotten bored now?

 

Jongin sighs. So much for not having any expectations.

 

“Stop checking your phone,” Sehun says. He reaches over and slides Jongin’s phone towards him. 

 

Jongin slumps forward on the bartop, pressing his cheek against the cool, sticky linoleum. The alcohol is making his head heavy. He exhales, trying to regain his focus.

 

“I’m not checking my phone,” he mumbles, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“Not anymore, you’re not.” Sehun makes a show of sticking Jongin’s phone into the pocket of his denim jacket.

 

“...not fair,” Jongin mumbles again. He’s vaguely aware of how pathetic he must look, drunk at the bar, his head lolling back and forth, whining about having his phone taken. It’s not a good look and the lingering sober part of his brain is grateful for the darkness, blocking him from the view of almost everyone else there.

 

“It’s fair,” Baekhyun tuts, poking Jongin in the forehead. “I’m not going to let you embarrass yourself in public.” Jongin rolls his head to the side to look up at Baekhyun with one eye. 

 

“Is this where ‘running with it’ takes me?” Jongin asks.

 

“Maybe,” Sehun replies. “But hey, it could have been a lot worse. At least he didn’t break your heart. And at least it wasn’t like you two were in bed fucking and he got up and left you halfway to your orgasm. That would be spectacularly bad.”

 

Jongin squints at Sehun. “Have you done that?”

 

Sehun smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “No comment?”

 

Jongin sits upright and the room spins around him. 

 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says to Sehun. “It’s not like Taemin and I were...anything. Or doing anything.”

 

Sehun’s face melts into something gentle.

 

“Maybe you two weren’t anything, but Jongin, you were definitely holding on to the idea that you two could be something.”

 

Jongin isn’t quite sure what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to dig really deep down into my brain for this pool scene (thanks, wikipedia). For those of you wondering about Manhwa's sound, I've made a playlist of the types of songs that I envision them playing. It can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqNi6LTIfVrk_DZd_A0ojmrB4EXC6pWSr).
> 
> Hope you all liked this update. I'll probably be updating about twice a week for the next few weeks. I'm just about done writing (only a chapter and a half left) so this will probably go by pretty quickly.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Wanna stalk me? Find me [on tumblr](https://transparent-umbrellla.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I live for comments, y'all.


	3. Chapter 3

The phone call comes two days later.

 

Jongin is just stepping out of a long meeting with his thesis advisor, the two of them reviewing the latest in Jongin’s research. Jongin’s head is buzzing from their conversation; his brain bouncing with the all of the work that still has to be done and the dual stress of his comprehensive exams that are coming up in a little over a month. He’s blindly navigating his way through the halls of the Asian Studies building trying to map out his schedule over the next few days when his phone rings. 

 

Later, he’ll say that he only answered because he was too distracted to look at the caller id. He’ll also know that even if he had looked, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. He still would have picked up.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Jongin?” The voice on the other end is soft, like they’re afraid that they’ll scare Jongin away if they talk too loudly.

 

Jongin’s breath catches in his throat. 

 

“Taemin?” Jongin fights the urge to hang up right then and there. 

 

“Yeah,” Taemin replies, his voice still low. “It’s me.”

 

“Hang on, one second,” Jongin fumbles his books in his arms and looks around, ducking into the empty classroom on his left.

 

“Yeah,” he says, dropping his books on an desk. He struggles to keep his voice from sounding too dismissive. “I’m here.”

 

There’s the quiet sound of shuffling around and then the metallic click of a lighter being struck. Jongin hears the unmistakable soft inhale of cigarette smoke.

 

“How have you been?” Taemin asks. “It’s been a while since we texted.”

 

“Alright. Busy,” Jongin answers truthfully. “I’ve been studying a lot, working a lot.”

 

“Makes sense.” Jongin hears Taemin take a deep breath on the other end. “Listen, how much time do you have right now?”

 

“Right now?” Jongin glances at the clock mounted on the wall. “Not a lot. I have to start heading to my shift in about 15 minutes.”

 

“Then I guess I’ll make this short,” Taemin says. There’s another soft exhale as he puffs on his cigarette. “I just want to apologize for ghosting on you like that the other night. It was really shitty, especially after I invited you there and everything.” His voice is wavering, like he’s trying to weigh, measure, and balance each word carefully, trying his hardest to not break the delicate structure of their conversation. “I wanted to call to say I’m sorry. Calling is usually better than text for things like this, right?”

 

“Is it?” Jongin replies. “I’m still just as--” he wracks his brain for the right word. Jongin sighs. “I don’t know what to say to you. I had one idea in my head of how the night was supposed to go.” Might as well be honest. “I expected that I would see you after. I thought you  _ wanted  _ to see me after.”

 

“I did!” Taemin says. “I did really want to see you. I still want to see you.”

 

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

 

There’s a pause. Jongin hears Taemin sigh on the other end. Just as the silence is becoming uncomfortable, Taemin speaks again, his voice thin and fragile.

 

“I’m one track minded, especially when I’m performing. I get nervous sometimes, and frustrated with myself when things don’t go well on stage. I get really wrapped up in my own head and that’s all I pay attention to.”

 

“Your performance seemed fine to me.”

 

“Maybe. But there were a thousand things that went wrong and I was really dissatisfied with everything at the end. I left as soon as our set was done.”

 

“You still didn’t respond to any of the texts I sent you before the show.”

 

Jongin hears him exhale. It sounds like he’s deflating. “That’s cause I don’t like to look at my phone before a show. It distracts me.” There’s another pause. “I fucked up though. I should have texted you anyways. I should have said something once I’d left or even the next morning. It was shitty of me. I’m not good at being good sometimes.”

 

Jongin turns this all of this over. Something tells him that these aren’t things that Taemin readily shares with other people. He looks at the clock again.

 

“Listen, I have to go,” he says. “I have to get to my shift. I can maybe text you later.”

 

“Ok.” There’s another uncomfortable pause.

 

“Jongin--”

 

“Taemin--”

 

They both stop and laugh uncomfortably. 

 

“You first,” Jongin says.

 

“Did you really mean it?” Taemin asks. “Did you really mean it when you said that you had expected to see me after the show? Did you want to see me?”

 

Jongin messes with the corner of the desk, running his fingers over the wooden point, gone dull and shiny with age.

 

“I did,” he admits. No use for secrets now. He’s already surrendered his own truths, played his own hand in the game. “I--I thought we were getting somewhere.” To his own ears, Jongin’s voice sounds just as small as Taemin’s.

 

“Where did you want it to take us?” Taemin asks. “Where did you want to go?”

 

“I thought you liked me.” The sharp twinge is back, pricking at Jongin’s insides. He feels childish, almost vulnerable admitting this to Taemin. It all sounds like a fantasy, like a teenage girl’s daydream crush on a rockstar.

 

“I do like you,” Taemin replies, his voice louder and more stable than it’s been throughout their entire conversation. Jongin starts. “I like you a lot. And I wasn’t kidding when I said that I want to get to know you better. I know I fucked up. I want to make it better.”

 

“How?” 

 

“Let me invite you somewhere again. Somewhere where I won’t have to share you with 200 people. Somewhere where you’ll have my attention.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Come to our studio on Saturday? We’re recording new songs and we have the whole day blocked off. You can come by whenever you’re ready and since they’ll be other people there, hopefully it won’t feel too weird?”

 

Jongin answers before he really knows what he’s saying. “Alright.”

 

He can almost hear Taemin’s smile through the phone. “Great.”

 

\----

 

Jongin squints at the printout in front of him, the tiny text and bright highlighting blurring in and out of focus. He pushes back from the table and stretches his arms above his head, sighing when his shoulders relax with a gentle pop. It’s stuffy in the library, the main floor becoming increasingly more warm as the morning wears on and Jongin tugs at the neck of his sweatshirt, fidgeting in his seat.

 

Sehun looks at him from across the top of his laptop screen, eyebrows raised.

 

“You quitting already?” he asks, earning him a loud “shhh” from Baekhyun who looks up from his problem set to glare at both of them.  

 

Jongin glances at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly 1:30.

 

Jongin nods and caps his highlighter. “I think so. We’ve been here almost four hours now.”

 

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Baekhyun says, punching numbers into his calculator. “Usually you’re whining about how we’ve ‘ _ only  _ been here for four hours’ so we can’t ‘quit just yet’.” He looks up and studies Jongin appraisingly. After a moment, Baekhyun’s eyes go wide in realization.

 

“Oh!”  He quirks his mouth to the side. “It’s Saturday.”

 

Jongin rolls his eyes at him and Sehun closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

 

“Yes,” Jongin says. He starts to put his printouts back in his folder. “It’s Saturday and I have somewhere to be.”

 

So you’re going to go then,” Sehun says, looking mildly concerned. 

 

“I said I would,” Jongin replies. He starts to pack up his things, ducking his head to avoid his friends.

 

He’d talked to Baekhyun and Sehun about his conversation with Taemin, texting them as soon as he’d gotten off the phone on Tuesday night. Baekhyun had lobbied for Taemin, saying something about sensitive artists and telling Jongin to give him another shot. Sehun had been more concerned.

 

“You sure about this?” Sehun continues. “I’m not sure if I’d still go on a date with a guy who can’t even answer my texts.”

 

“It’s not a date,” Jongin mumbles. His face feels so hot and he tugs at his sweatshirt again. “Well, not officially. I’m. . .not really sure. And he’s answered all of my texts since he invited me over.”

 

It’s true. Jongin and Taemin had been texting almost everyday since, easing back into a gentle conversation, Taemin sending him snippets of Manhwa’s latest songs to “give him a sneak peek” of what they’d been working on.

 

“Sounds like a date to me,” Sehun says as Baekhyun nods in agreement. “You don’t really have any other reason to go to his recording studio, do you? And what was it that Taemin texted you last night? Something like ‘can’t wait to see you again tomorrow’? Definitely a date.”

 

“I’m never letting you read my texts again.” Jongin zips up his backpack and stands, shouldering his bag. 

 

“You know that I’ve never bothered asking for permission,” Sehun quips back as Baekhyun laughs loudly into the back of his hand, earning him angry looks from the other students working nearby.

 

“Ok,  _ bye _ .” Jongin turns and leaves the library. He can still hear Baekhyun laughing behind him.

 

He steps out on the quad into the gray afternoon. It had started to rain in the time that Jongin had been holed up in the library and the raindrops feel cool on his skin and air feels thick with mid-April humidity. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and crosses campus, dodging throngs of undergraduates gripping umbrellas, rushing to reach their destinations. It’s not a super long walk to the metro station, about fifteen minutes on most days, but today Jongin makes it in seven. His heart is pounding when he reaches the metro and his clothes rub against his skin, cool-hot with the clamminess that always seems to stick to him whenever the heat of his body meets the damp D.C. humidity.

 

He gets a text from Baekhyun when he’s halfway down the metro escalator.

 

**(13:53) baekhyunee:** tell chanyeol i say hiiiiii~ be careful jonginnie.  <3

 

Jongin pockets his phone without replying.

 

Jongin doesn’t make it to Takoma Park until nearly three. 

 

The metro is delayed with weekend trackwork and he’s stuck waiting for his transfer for nearly twenty minutes. The rain has let up some when he finally gets there, changing from a steady pour to a light drizzle. He leaves the station and turns on to the sidewalk, pulling up the map app on his phone and typing in the studio address that Taemin had sent him last night. Finding the studio turns out to be easier than he thought it would be. The GPS on his phone leads him to a large, purple two story house on a quiet neighborhood street three blocks from the station. Jongin double checks the number on the door with the house number and then, shrugging, rings the doorbell.

 

There’s commotion behind the door and someone shouts  _ coming! _ before the front door opens.

 

The guy standing in front of him looks like a punk plucked out of an eighties rock club. He looks only a few years older, maybe nearing 30, with close cropped bleached blonde hair and a lip ring. He’s dressed in all black--black jeans, black t-shirt with cut off sleeves showing off toned arms, inked heavily with tattoos.

 

“Hey,” he says, his voice skeptical.

 

“Um, hey.” Jongin replies. “Is Taemin here?”

 

The guy nods slowly. 

 

“Yeah he’s in the studio downstairs.” He frowns at Jongin. “Are you Jongin? Taemin mentioned that you’d be coming by.”

 

Jongin raises his eyebrows. “He did? And yeah. That’s me.”

 

The guy nods again. He opens the door wider and turns around, walking back inside the house. “Come in, then.”

 

Jongin follows him inside, depositing his damp shoes with the others piled by the entrance.

 

“I’m Key,” he guy says once Jongin straightens up. Jongin nods in acknowledgement.

 

“This is a studio?” Jongin asks. He follows Key as they pass through the foyer and the living room.

 

“Yes and no,” Key replies. He opens a side door and points. “The studio is downstairs. The rest is my house. I built the studio myself and I rent it out for whenever people want to use it.”

 

Jongin nods again, unsure of how to respond.

 

“Anyways,” Key continues, “Taemin and the others are down there. Holler if you need anything.”

 

Jongin nods. “Ok. Um. Thanks.”

 

“No problem. Cool to meet you, Jongin.” 

 

Key turns away and leaves Jongin standing at the top of the stairs. Jongin looks down and sees another door at the bottom. He can hear the very faint sounds of laughter squeezing through the door frame. For a quick moment, Jongin considers turning around and going back to campus but the thought of bumping into Key again and having no explanation for leaving kills the idea almost as soon as it blooms. Faced with no other option, he grabs onto the railing and heads down to the basement, opening the second door.

 

He’s immediately faced with a wall of sound; the unadulterated laughter, deep and booming, the sound of someone running arpeggios on an acoustic guitar, and lighthearted bickering.

 

No one seems to notice Jongin at first.

 

The room is much larger than Jongin expected, almost cavernous with high ceilings. The space is divided in two by a huge glass wall and a door that leads into what Jongin guesses is the soundbooth where there’s enough space for a full drum set, a keyboard, a floor lamp, and a microphone that’s suspended from the ceiling. Taemin is standing in front of the microphone, a huge pair of black headphones slung around his neck. He’s glaring through the glass, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth pursed in annoyance.

 

Jongin steps into the other half of the room, where there’s a huge set up pushed up against the wall facing the soundbooth with a soundboard, a laptop, and other, more complicated, audio mixing equipment that Jongin can’t identify. There are no windows and the beige walls are covered in thick patches of spongy gray soundproofing material. There are posters pasted up in the wall’s bald spots, of old punk bands like the Bad Brains and Fugazi and vintage show posters advertising gogo concerts at the Lincoln Theatre and the 9:30 Club twenty, thirty years back. 

 

The whole room is dimly lit with a hodgepodge set of standing lamps and string lights casting the space in a low glow. There are two swivel chairs facing the soundboard, one is stacked with what looks like blank sheet music, the other occupied by Chanyeol. He’s the one laughing, his head tipped back and both hands clasped over his chest as he heaves with laughter. There are two other people in the room--Seulgi who’s sitting on a brown corduroy sofa with a guitar in her lap and her feet propped up on the low coffee table in front of her and another girl that Jongin doesn’t recognize with a heart shaped face and long blonde hair who’s sitting next to her and smiling.

 

Chanyeol is the first to spot him.

 

“Jongin!” he shouts. Jongin starts, taken aback at Chanyeol’s loud enthusiasm. Seulgi and the blonde girl turn their heads towards him and Taemin breaks his glare and meets his eyes through the glass. “You made it!”

 

Taemin’s face breaks into a huge smile and he drops his arms to wave at him. Jongin feels his heart speed up and he does his best to match Taemin’s smile and waves back.

 

“I did,” he replies. “Metro was a mess but I’m here now.”

 

“You can sit next to me,” Chanyeol says, grinning at him. He gathers the stack of sheet paper off the spare chair and drops it by his feet on the floor. 

 

“Thanks.” Jongin sits down, placing his backpack in his lap. He swivels around a bit, trying to get comfortable.  Even though Jongin can count the amount of times that he’s had a full conversation with Chanyeol on one hand, Chanyeol greets him like an old friend. He is forcefully friendly, the warmth of his personality bouncing around the studio and embracing Jongin. 

 

“We’re just trying to work through a bridge,” Chanyeol explains, gesturing to Taemin in the soundbooth. “It probably shouldn’t take super long.”

Jongin nods. 

 

Chanyeol presses a button on the soundboard and leans forward, speaking into the outside microphone.

 

“Ok, so I think we should try the second line again,” he says, addressing Taemin. Taemin shakes his head and goes back to scowling.

 

“We need to the redo the entire thing,” Taemin says into his own microphone. “The whole section is wrong, the tempo is wrong and it doesn’t flow.”

 

Chanyeol looks wounded. “What’s wrong with the tempo?”

 

Seulgi looks up from her guitar and gives Jongin a look of pity. “They’re going to be at this for a while, so get comfortable,” she says. “I’ve been here for two hours and I haven’t even had a chance to record my guitar parts because they’ve been fighting over this damn bridge the entire time.”

 

“The same bridge?” Jongin asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “For two hours?”

 

“The same one,” the blonde girl says, solemnly. “This isn’t even all that bad. You should see them when Yixing and Yeri are here too. They were at it for two days once.”

 

Seulgi starts playing arpeggios again, her fingers flying over the frets.

 

“Wendy, this is Jongin.” she says, her rhythm never breaking. “Jongin, this is my girlfriend, Wendy. She’s here to suffer with us.”

 

Wendy smiles and shrugs. “I come watch these guys record all the time. If I didn’t I’d never get to spend any time with you,” she replies.

Seulgi sighs and puts down her guitar. “Held hostage by Manhwa.” She looks at Jongin’s backpack. “Hope you don’t have anything else to do today, Jongin.”

 

Jongin lifts up his bag. “I have plenty of reading that I need to get through.”

 

Wendy cringes. “Enjoy that.”

 

Jongin takes out his notebook, pens, and the article from earlier and spreads them out in front of him. 

 

Chanyeol and Taemin have finally stopped bickering and Chanyeol leans back in his seat and presses play on the track. The instrumentals fill the room, a stripped down lo-fi track with sparse bass and piano that immediately makes Jongin think of late summer nights and warm, gentle rain. Taemin leans in close to the microphone, the headphones pulled over his ears. His eyes are closed as he bops his head along to the beat. Taemin’s recorded vocals cut in riding along the rhythm. It’s a love song, almost. Taemin sings of a deep hunger, a need greater than his own body, the words so heavy with devotion and ardor that Jongin can almost feel the mania crawl over his own skin.

 

“Stop it there.” Taemin says into the microphone. Chanyeol presses pause. “Right there,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

 

“It just needs to be remixed,” Chanyeol takes his snapback off his head and running his hands through his hair. He looks frustrated. “We’re not even done with it yet, Seulgi still needs to do the guitar and add backing vocals and Yixing and I are gonna go over it tomorrow and add synth. This part is  _ fine _ , I’m telling you. We just need to re-record your vocals on the later part of the bridge, just  _ trust _ me.”

 

“I’m not going to trust you. You’re fucking wrong. It doesn’t feel right. The melody doesn’t match the emotion of the lyrics.”

 

Seulgi sighs again and mutters something that sounds like  _ holy fucking hell kill me _ under her breath. She puts her guitar down and nudges Wendy on the shoulder who nods. They both stand up.

 

“Text me when you need me,” Seulgi says. “I’m not going to wait down here while you two argue over emotion.” 

 

“WhatEVER,” Chanyeol shouts after them as they leave the studio. Taemin flips her the bird through the glass.

 

The next hour flows like that; Chanyeol and Taemin playing and replaying the same thirty five seconds of music and going back and forth, dissecting each note. Eventually, Chanyeol does convince Taemin to redo the last few lines of the bridge and then Taemin proceeds to sing it five times back to back until they’re both satisfied. Jongin doesn’t get much reading done, his attention split between the text in front of him and the controlled chaos unfurling next to him.

 

It’s fascinating to watch, to see someone so consumed by their work, to watch someone get swept away in the minutiae of their craft, digging for and finding imperfections, tiny parts that sit awkwardly in the ear. It’s almost another type of performance, like they’re trying to capture and create the most perfect form of their work, to gift the listener with an infinitely impeccable moment of music, something that holds emotions and tells a perfect story or keeps a specific memory. The process is special, Jongin realizes. The process holds its own special power.

 

“You not sick of this yet?” Chanyeol pokes Jongin on the shoulder and grins at him when he looks up from his books. “I’m surprised you didn’t run out screaming with Seulgi and Wendy.”

 

Jongin blushes and shrugs. “It’s really interesting,” he replies. “I study music, more or less, but I’ve never watched anyone make a song before. It’s so complex.”

 

“I’m taking a break.” Taemin’s voice cuts in sharply through the speakers. He finally takes off the headphones and hangs them on the mic and leaves the soundbooth, the door banging on his way out. 

He crosses the lounge area, his body a long blur of black, not stopping to talk to Jongin or Chanyeol.

 

“I’m gonna head upstairs to smoke and steal any food that Key has,” he says as he heads up the stairs. “I’ll bring down whatever I find.” And he’s gone.

 

“He’s no fun when he’s wound up this tightly,” Chanyeol explains. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns, his face wrinkling. “You must be bored as hell, I’m sorry.”

 

Jongin shrugs again, his shoulders raising and falling almost in slow motion. The twinge is back in his chest, brought back by Taemin’s abrupt departure. He starts to wonder if Sehun had been right all along. “Not really bored.”

 

The smile fades from Chanyeol’s face and he studies Jongin with a cocked head. His hat is on backwards and it pushes all of the hair off of his forehead, making his eyes look huge.

 

“Taemin is a lot to work with,” Chanyeol says, finally. “He can be moody as hell when the music doesn’t feel right and he gets all wrapped up in himself. He’ll be back soon, ready to start again.” Chanyeol sighs and rolls his neck. “We’ve been at this all day, I’m exhausted.”

 

Jongin squirms in his chair, feeling uncomfortable again. He’s not sure why Taemin even invited him here, not when everyone is so clearly occupied with their own projects. He feels out of place, with nothing to contribute and, aside from Chanyeol, no one to really talk to. 

 

“You alright?” Chanyeol asks him. He’s looking at him oddly again.

 

“Yeah, m’fine.” Jongin shifts again in his chair. He glances down at his schoolwork again and then shuffles the papers around. Chanyeol watches him a bit longer and then turns to his own laptop, pulling his own pair of headphones over his ears and clicking around. 

 

The studio is eerily quiet then, with only the sound of Chanyeol’s clicking and Jongin occasionally turning the pages of his notebook.

 

“What are you working on?” Jongin asks, finally. Chanyeol turns again, an eyebrow quirked upwards in curiosity. He takes off his headphones. 

 

“I’m trying to work on mixing the part of the song that we were working through earlier,” he says. “I might as well get started now.”

 

Jongin scoots his chair a bit closer and peers over at the screen. “Can I hear some of it?”

 

“Sure.” Chanyeol presses a few buttons and then the same section of the song from earlier pumps through the studio’s speakers, only this time it’s richer, the tempo sped up to match the fervor in Taemin’s voice and the bass amplified. 

 

“It’s still not done,” Chanyeol admits when it ends. “But I think we’re closer now. It’ll be better when Seulgi does the guitar and as much as I hate to say it, Taemin was right about the tempo.”

 

“It’s amazing,” Jongin says honestly. “It sounds so good already.”

 

“Meh.” Chanyeol pouts at his laptop screen. “It’s slow going this time around. Even more so than usual. We’ve been working on this song for almost two months. Taemin wrote the lyrics and Yeri and I have been in and out of the studio trying to find a good balance for the drums and bass. Seulgi already handled the guitar riff but it’s not recorded and Yixing  _ still  _ needs to do the piano.” He huffs. “And even worse, Key says that he has to hand the studio over to another group next weekend so we really only have this weekend to get this done.” He smiles tiredly at Jongin. “And yet, here I am, whining instead of working.”

 

“I don’t mind hearing you whine. Like I said, it’s really interesting.”

 

Chanyeol laughs. “Well lucky you, cause I can whine about music all day.”

 

“What’s it like to make music?” Jongin asks. He likes Chanyeol, he decides. He’s just as friendly as Baekhyun with an added dose of goofy and neurotic. “I’ve never really thought much about it. I feel like I’m finally seeing the other half of the equation by watching you all.”

 

“It’s hard as hell,” Chanyeol says. “But it’s really gratifying at the end. It’s the best feeling. And working with Manhwa, with Taemin, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I love the challenge, he all pushes me to do things that I’d never have considered doing with music. He’s made me completely change the way that I think. He’s done that for all of us.”

 

“What’s that like?” Jongin asks Chanyeol. Chanyeol turns towards him and raises an eyebrow. “What’s it like to have someone that can completely change the way you create?”

 

“It’s terrifying.” Chanyeol leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. He frowns. “You go into something thinking that you know who you are and what you want to make and then you have someone completely destroy that idea.” He bites his lip and then huffs. “It’s terrifying but it’s also amazing to realize that there are people out there who are so talented that they push you into a completely different version of yourself. I think all of us feel that way.

“A lot of the time, it’s more like we’re playing to keep up with Taemin, not the other way around.” Chanyeol stretches his legs out in front of him and shrugs. “Music is weird like that, you know? Like there’s the sound mixing and the instrumentals and the vocals and the lyrics but then there’s the energy. When I was first learning how to play music, my piano teacher would always say that the energy can come from any technical part of the song, like the melody or the tempo. And that’s how I produced for a long time, with that lesson in mind. But being in Manhwa with Taemin has completely fucked that lesson up for me. It feels like Taemin, something about him being who he is, brings a completely different type of energy to all of our songs. He’s like the nucleus of Manhwa, he kind of  _ makes _ all of our songs.” Chanyeol flushes a bit and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s weird to say, but sometimes it feels like everything I write, I write for him? Not in a romantic way, but it’s like the things that I write are all made with him in mind and his energy and his ability driving my inspiration.

“So I guess I don’t know.” Chanyeol is silent for a moment, a small frown on his face. “Taemin is kind of weird. I’ve known him for almost three years now and I still feel like there’s so much that I don’t know about him. He can be really cagey and distant, he likes to retreat into himself and sometimes, he’ll go days without talking to us. He’s like the quintessential moody artist--always tucking himself away to brood or think or whatever. You kind of have to learn to not take it too personally. It’s kind of just how his brain works.” He smiles awkwardly. “Sorry about the rant.”

 

Jongin turns Chanyeol’s words over in head, trying to sort through the picture of Taemin that’s been woven in front of him.

 

“Do you ever think that he may be more trouble than he’s worth?” Jongin asks him. He’s not sure if he’s still talking about music.

 

Chanyeol’s face morphs with understanding. Jongin wonders how much Baekhyun has told him.

 

“No,” Chanyeol says. “He’s a weird dude, but he’s a good person. A talented person. He’s built up a lot of walls but underneath all of it is someone with a massive heart. I think music is his way of sharing his heart with us. Music is kind of his way of showing his most authentic self. So I guess he’s worth the trouble.”

 

The studio door opens then and Taemin comes back in smelling of cigarette smoke, his sweater damp with rain. He looks at Chanyeol and Jongin but if he had overheard the tailend of their conversation, it doesn’t show.

 

“There’s food upstairs, if you’re hungry,” he says. He seems less tense. “Pizza and stuff.”

 

Chanyeol’s face splits into another one of his massive grins. “Awesome.” He gets up. “You want anything, Jongin?”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

 

Chanyeol nods at him and then heads upstairs.

 

Taemin plops himself down into Chanyeol’s empty seat and starts clicking through the open laptop, replaying the song that Chanyeol had just played, fast forwarding to the bridge. He listens to fifteen seconds, rewinds, and then replays it, listening again. He furrows his brow, nods to himself and then shuts it off.

 

“Better,” he whispers under his breath. “Sorry about all this,” he says, turning around in his chair to face Jongin. “This has taken so much longer than I thought.” He rubs the back of his his neck sheepishly. “So much for making it up to you.”

 

“It’s ok,” Jongin says. “I’ve been getting a crash course in music production.”

 

Taemin laughs, a quiet sound that makes Jongin think of the way that his voice sounded on the song they’d been working on all morning.

 

“Chanyeol is good at that,” Taemin replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who loves music more than him.”

 

“Funny,” Jongin says, “I feel like he’d say the same thing about you.”

 

“Guess that’s why we’re in the same band.” Taemin smiles at him. “We’re both neurotic.”

 

Jongin watches him, watches the way that his oversized sweater hangs off his shoulders, looking at the slivers of skin that show through the rips in his jeans. Jongin watches him and tries to fit the image of the man next to him with the picture of the genius, obsessive artist that Chanyeol had painted for him.

 

“Is your neurosis worse than his?”

 

Taemin laughs again. “Absolutely. I drive him insane all the time. I drive all of them insane. I’m a crazy perfectionist.”

 

“My ballet instructors used to say that there’s no such thing as perfection,” Jongin says. “They’d always remind me that there’s ‘good enough’ and then there’s self-sabotage.”

 

“Sounds like you’re a bit of a perfectionist, too.”

 

“I was,” Jongin corrects. “Not anymore. I realized that my instructors were right.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“Perfectionism is what made me fuck up my ankle.” The dull sadness that pulls at Jongin’s chest is still there, even after so many years. “I pushed myself too hard and didn’t listen to what my body was telling me. I pushed too hard and I ended up breaking myself.” 

 

“So you’re not a perfectionist anymore?”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “I’ve learned my limits. Good enough is still good.”

 

Taemin pushes back from the soundboard and hums to himself in thought.

 

“Maybe,” he says. “I’m not sure if I agree, though.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Doesn’t ‘good enough’ have a limit?” Taemin asks. He scoots himself towards the soundboard again and slides his chair over so that he’s only an arm’s length away. Up close, Jongin can see all of the curves of his face and his eyes settle on the tiny mole on the bridge of his nose. “Good enough has a definite point that you can reach, like you do something and then you’re like ‘ok, good enough.’” That feels limiting to me. Perfection doesn’t have a limit. I know that it’s unattainable but it’s fun to keep trying to reach it. To push myself.”

 

Jongin quirks his mouth. “That’s true. I still push myself. I do it all the time with my school work and research. But I’m not trying to fight to get to a point that might not exist. I’ve learned that I can’t sacrifice the other parts of my life to try to be perfect in one part.”

 

Taemin nods and shrugs. “You have a lot more self control than I do.” He laughs again, almost giggles. “I only care about music and let everything else in my life rot.”

 

“Were you a perfect dancer?” Taemin crosses his legs in front of him. 

 

Jongin frowns. “Of course not. I was  _ good _ , I guess. I pushed myself harder than anyone else.”

 

“Do you think you had a natural talent for it?”

 

Jongin thinks back to all of his hours in rehearsal, about countless auditions alongside his peers and how judges and teachers would praise him for his natural stage presence and for his grace.

 

_ You can’t learn that _ . They’d say.  _ You’re either born with it or you’re not. _

 

“Maybe,” Jongin decides. “Some parts of it. I’m really good at choreography and I was always told that I’m a natural on stage. But I wasn’t good at the carefree parts of dancing, like, I can’t freestyle. I’m a ballet dancer through and through. I’m all method, not a ton of creativity.”

 

Taemin tuts quietly. “You’re lucky either way, honestly, to have the talent that you have. I don’t really have any natural born talent when it comes to music. My teachers used to say that I was tone deaf when I was younger. And I used to suck at piano.” He laughs. “I still kinda suck at piano. Don’t tell my students I told you that.” 

 

Jongin laughs along with him. The words flow easily between the two of them. The same hazy comfort that had surrounded them on the kitchen floor on that night that feels so long ago has returned, swirling in the air between them.

 

“I guess that’s why I’m so singularly focused on music,” Taemin continues. “‘Cause everything I have is from hard work. I just feel like if I keep working hard, I can maybe do something extraordinary.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like Taemin is trying to look off into the future, trying to see how he looks on stage two, four years out. He blinks and shakes his head, snapping out of it.

 

“Or maybe I’m just crazy,” he says with a smile.

 

“You’re not crazy,” Jongin says. “It’s good to have something that never stops motivating you.”

 

“What’s your something?”

 

“Now?” Jongin gestures to the papers spread out in front of him. “Academia, probably.”

 

Taemin picks up one of Jongin’s highlighted articles. “What are you working on?” He reads the title out loud. “‘Forgotten Femmes, Foreign Faces: The Kim Sisters’ Presence on the American Screen and Scene’?”

 

“It’s an article about the Kim Sisters. They were the first ‘k-pop group’,” Jongin throws up air quotes, “if you can even call them that, to hit it big in the U.S. They were a big deal in the ‘50s and ‘60s.”

 

“K-pop in the 60s?”

 

“Calling them k-pop isn’t really accurate,” Jongin explains. “All their songs were in English and they were managed by a white American dude. Their sound was more motown than anything. But it’s an interesting article. It’s all about the music they played and their stage presence and the idea of adapting your image and performance style for a foreign audience and what that all meant in the context of the Cold War.”

 

Taemin leans forward, looking at Jongin with wide eyes.

 

“I probably said this last time,” he says, “but this is all so far outside of my realm of comprehension.”

 

Jongin laughs. He takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his music, scrolling through his songs until he lands on what he’s looking for.

 

“This is them,” he says, pressing play.

 

Quiet guitar swells around them and then a high female voice starts singing.

 

_ Try to remember the kind of September _

_ When life was slow and oh, so mellow. _

_ Try to remember the kind of September _

_ When grass was green and grain was yellow. _

_ Try to remember the kind of September _

_ When you were a tender and callow fellow. _

_ Try to remember, and if you remember, _

_ Then follow. _

 

“Oh shit!” Taemin exclaims, bouncing in his seat. “I know this song! It was in Captain America: Civil War, right?”

 

Jongin bursts out laughing, doubling over in his seat, arms wrapped around his middle. He eventually straightens up, gasping for air. Taemin is watching him, with a wide smile and bright eyes.

 

“I had no idea! I knew that the song sounded familiar but I couldn’t figure out why.” Jongin says, still wheezing. “I’ve seen that movie like a thousand times, I can’t believe I never put it all together.”

 

Taemin laughs. “Glad I could help you out.” He reaches forward, caressing the curve of Jongin’s cheek. Jongin freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his lungs.

 

“You have a really nice laugh,” Taemin says. He’s looking directly into Jongin’s eyes with a serious intensity that makes Jongin’s heart thunder. “It’s nice to listen to.”

 

Jongin lets his right hand float upwards to hold Taemin’s hand against his face. Suddenly self conscious, Jongin breaks eye contact with Taemin, choosing instead to focus on the slope of the other man’s collarbones and the way they curve under the thick fabric of his sweater.

 

“Jongin.” Taemin’s voice is a whisper, rough like crumpled paper. 

 

Jongin looks back up and sees himself reflected in Taemin’s eyes. 

 

“Yeah.” Jongin is whispering too.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Taemin’s face is so close.

 

_ Yes _ .

 

Jongin isn’t even sure that he’s said yes out loud before Taemin is closing the gap between them, pressing his mouth against Jongin’s own.

 

The kiss is sweet. Taemin’s mouth is warm and full and he kisses like he’s sharing a secret, like he’s carrying something soft in his breaths that he needs Jongin to drink in. And Jongin does. He lets his eyes flutter shut and parts his lips, letting in the gentle quiet of Taemin’s kiss, tasting each honeyed exhale. Jongin feels completely saturated in Taemin, so much so that the entire moment distills itself down to the way the other man smells (like clove cigarettes, rain, and warm skin), the way he tastes (like smoke and cold water), the way his fingers feel as they move from Jongin’s cheek to cup the back of his neck (light and warm like early morning sunlight). Jongin sighs into the kiss, his own hand moving up to rest lightly on the side of Taemin’s neck.

 

There’s a cough behind them and they spring apart. Jongin’s entire face feels numb, like he’d lost all of his heat when Taemin’s mouth left his own. Taemin smiles at him and presses two fingers against the plush part of Jongin’s bottom lip, as if trying to hold on to the lingering ghost of their kiss. Taemin breaks their gaze and looks over Jongin’s shoulder to the door.

 

“Hey Seulgi, Chanyeol.” he says, his voice playful. He leans away from Jongin and turns towards the soundbooth. “Where’s Wendy?” Jongin can hear Chanyeol laughing behind them.

 

Seulgi saunters past them, her guitar in hand.

 

“She had to leave. She has to walk her roommate’s dog.” She goes into the soundbooth and Taemin presses the button on the outside mic. 

 

“Ready to record your parts?” he asks.

 

“Only if you’re done making out in public spaces,” she fires back as she fits the headphones over hear ears.

 

Taemin grins at her, teasing. “Touche.”

 

He presses play.

\---

 

Jongin wakes up to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder. He opens his eyes to the low light of the studio and Taemin hovering over him, looking at him gently.

 

“I didn’t really want to wake you,” Taemin whispers. He’s lost his sweater, Jongin realizes, and is only wearing a worn gray t-shirt that’s clearly seen better days. “But everyone else left.” 

 

Jongin sits up and knocks his notebook off the sofa and on to the floor. He reaches down to grab it. He’d given up his spot by the soundboard to Chanyeol and moved to the sofa to try to get more reading done. He must have fallen asleep.

 

“What time is it?” he asks Taemin. “How long have I been asleep?”

 

Taemin sits down next to him and takes his phone out of his jeans pocket. “It’s seven nineteen. So you’ve been asleep for about 3 hours.”

 

Jongin yawns and stretches his arms upwards. “Shit,” he says. His neck feels stiff from falling asleep at a weird angle. “So much for getting reading done.”

 

Taemin takes the notebook from Jongin’s lap and opens it, thumbing through a few pages.

 

“I dunno,” he says. “It looks like you have notes on every single thing in the world in here. You sure that this isn’t ‘good enough’?” Taemin’s voice is heavy with mischief and his face is crinkled in a teasing smile.

 

“Well I don’t know,” Jongin says, playing back. “How’d your song go? Reach perfection yet?”

 

“Not even close.” Taemin shifts around so that he’s facing Jongin, sitting with his back to the arm rest, both legs crossed in front of him on the seat cushion. “We’ll get it worked out eventually.”

 

“Do you have a name for it yet?” Jongin moves so that his position matches Taemin’s.

 

Taemin shakes his head, making his hair fall into his eyes. “Not yet. Titles are always the hardest part. I usually don’t come up with one until the song is done. I don’t really think I know what the song is about until the music and the lyrics and the mixing are completely done. You can’t name a song until you know what it’s about.” He rests his head on the sofa back. “You have any suggestions? The original reason for you coming here was for you to find the story in our songs.”

 

Jongin smiles at him. “Not yet. I don’t think I’m going to be really helpful when it comes to naming songs. I can barely name my papers for school.”

 

“Oh come on,” Taemin chides him, the same teasing smile on his face. “You’re the fancy PhD. You can do better than that for me.”

 

Jongin looks at mirth and roguish laughter lighting up the contours of Taemin’s face and he can’t help but smirk back at him.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a little shit?” Jongin says.

 

Taemin tilts his head back and hums like he’s thinking about it. “Maybe once or twice. I think it’s one of the more interesting parts of my personality. Keeps people on their toes around me.”

 

“What if I’m not on my toes?”

 

“Then maybe I need to try a little harder with you. I want to see you start pirouetting en relevé.”

 

The laugh that bubbles out of Jongin is so loud that he claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the outburst. Taemin reaches over and gently pries his hand away.

 

“Didn’t I tell you that you have a nice laugh?” Taemin says. He takes Jongin’s hand up to his mouth and brushes his mouth across his knuckles. “You shouldn’t hide it.”

 

Jongin’s stomach churns and he falls quiet at the soft brush of Taemin’s lips. Taemin looks at him, his eyes hooded with the same dark, commanding sensuality that he radiates on stage. It sends a jolt of electricity through Jongin’s chest.

 

“Can I kiss you this time?” He whispers. Taemin is already so close to him.

 

Taemin smiles at him, coy as ever.

 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 

And this kiss is so much more, like the press of Taemin’s mouth against his channels the lightning coursing through Jongin’s chest and collects it in Taemin’s lungs where it’s heated and breathed, hot and alive, back through Jongin’s lips. And Jongin feels himself shivering with it, his arms rising to wrap around Taemin’s neck to pull him closer, to feel the fullness of his body against his own. Taemin lowers them both on to the sofa until they’re horizontal, Jongin’s back pressed into the sofa. Taemin slips his hands under Jongin’s shirt, rucking up the hem, his fingers feeling their way up his sides and Jongin moans into the kiss, one of his own hands slipping down to grip at Taemin’s waist. Taemin moves from Jongin’s mouth to his jaw and down, mouthing and licking at his neck, making Jongin’s entire body heat up. Taemin whines against his skin and then moves back upwards to Jongin’s mouth, nipping at this bottom lip like he’s asking for permission. And Jongin grants it, opening his mouth and letting their tongues twist around each other. Taemin shifts against him, sliding his hips so that he’s slotted between Jongin’s legs, their groins lining up with one another. Jongin can feel how aroused Taemin  is and his hips jerk upwards, seeking out more friction. They both gasp at the contact and Taemin rocks back down, repeating the motion with a fluidity that makes Jongin bite at Taemin’s lips. All Jongin can think is about how good this feels, how hot he feels, how  _ tight _ his whole body feels. With his eyes closed like this, everything that Jongin feels is Taemin, Taemin, Taemin and right then, he decides that nothing else has ever felt so good.

 

“Fuck,” Taemin gasps into Jongin’s mouth. Jongin swallows the exclamation down, tasting the desire and heat on each syllable. He keeps moving his hips, slipping his hands down to Jongin’s waistband, fumbling with his belt buckle and working it loose.

 

“Can I touch you?” 

 

“Oh my god.” Jongin squirms under Taemin’s gaze. Getting Taemin’s hands on him is the only thing on his mind. “Fuck yes, please.”

 

Taemin undoes his fly and slips his hand into Jongin’s underwear. And Jongin whines under his breath.

 

Taemin’s hands are warm and rough and they command every last one of Jongin’s livewire nerves, building him up and up and up until--

 

“Shit, fuck,  _ Taemin _ ,” Jongin gasps, breaking away from Taemin’s kisses, “I’m about to--”

 

Taemin lowers his head and slips down, taking the tip of Jongin’s dick into his mouth and the hot wetness is more than Jongin can handle. His body tenses and he keens, his eyes squeezing shut, and coming into Taemin’s mouth.

 

He’s subtly aware of the feeling of Taemin’s palms running across his stomach. He opens his eyes and sees Taemin’s face hovering inches above his own, a smug smile on his face.

 

“I know I made all that noise about how nice your laugh is,” Taemin murmurs, lowering his body so that every nook and corner of his body fits against Jongin’s. “But I think I like the way you sound when you come even more.”

 

Jongin ducks his head in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Taemin’s shoulder. Taemin wraps his arms around his middle, tucking his hands in the gap between the sofa and Jongin’s back.

 

Jongin’s hands have drifted back down to Taemin’s waist again, rubbing at the gap of exposed skin right above his waistband.

 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Jongin admits, speaking his words into Taemin’s skin. “I’m not used to this.”

 

“What aren’t you used to?” 

 

“This,” Jongin says. “Whatever this is.”

 

“Am I the first guy that you’ve ever been with?” There’s no malice in Taemin’s voice, just hushed curiosity.

 

“Kind of?”

 

Taemin squeezes him gently. “Kind of?”

 

“Both yes and no.” Jongin inhales deeply, trying to trap Taemin’s scent in his lungs. “I’ve kissed guys before. But never more than that.”

 

“So this is new?”

 

“With a guy. Yeah.” Jongin huffs out his next breath. “I’m not a virgin or anything, I’ve been with girls, but I’ve kind of only just come out as queer.”

 

Taemin’s thumbs rub at the jut of Jongin’s vertebrae. “Well. Let me say that I’m honored to be the first.”

 

They stay like that for a while, laying against each other, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Taemin keeps pressing quiet kisses over his face, lighting on his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, his lips. Eventually, Taemin sighs and Jongin feels the warmth and weight of his head nestling against his chest. Jongin lets his eyes fall shut again, sinking into a secure comfort.

 

“We should probably get going,” Taemin murmurs.  “Key will skin us both if we fall asleep down here.” Jongin sits up to watch Taemin sit up, his legs still straddling Jongin’s waist. He musses with his bangs, making them feather across his forehead in a way that shouldn’t make Jongin’s heart palpitate in the way that it does. Jongin fishes his phone out from underneath him and reluctantly calls an uber.

 

Taemin gets up and crosses the room, snagging his sweater off the back of a chair and pulling it on over his head. He notices Jongin watching him and Taemin shoots him finger hearts, grinning at him.

 

“Am I cute?” he asks in a sing songy voice.

 

Feeling bold, Jongin gets up from the sofa and goes over to him, placing both hands on Taemin’s shoulders, leaning in and kissing him on the forehead.

 

“Extremely,” Jongin replies, his lips still pressed against Taemin’s skin.

 

Taemin pulls away and smiles at him before heading towards the stairs.

 

“I’ll let you out.”

 

They pass through the rest of the quiet house, the kitchen dark with no Key in sight. Taemin leads him to the front door.

 

“I’m really glad you came,” Taemin says as he opens the door. “I’m glad I got to make it up to you. I’m glad I didn’t have to share you with anyone.”

 

“I don’t know,” Jongin replies, hesitating on the threshold. “I did spend a lot of time talking to Chanyeol today.”

 

“But did Chanyeol get to kiss you?” Taemin leans in and cranes his neck, going up on his toes to kiss Jongin quickly and soundly on the mouth.

 

“No,” Jongin breathes when they part. “Only you got to do that.”

 

Taemin smiles at him, his face crinkling.

 

“Maybe you’ll let me do it again sometime?”

 

“I’d like that.” 

 

**\---**

  
  


The rain has stopped and the night has cleared up, the moon peeking out behind the sparse clouds, its cool light at war with the golden shock of the streetlamps. Jongin watches as the lights blend into a glittering cacophony as his uber weaves itself through the late night streets. He leans his head against the headrest and lets the tug of fatigue pull him in, closing his eyes. 

 

His body still hums with the feeling of Taemin laying and working over him and he revels in it, letting the lingering pleasure sink down into his bones. It’s weird, he thinks to himself. It’s weird how easy everything had been with Taemin; the talking, the kissing, the touching. It’s weird to think about how good it all felt. How good it could all feel. How badly he wants to let it stay this way, let Taemin in as deep as he wants to go. And how badly he just wants to keep running with it.

 

It’s late and the roads are almost empty. The ride to his apartment in College Park takes under twenty minutes. It’s a fast trip up the elevator to his apartment where he walks into his living room, quiet in its darkness. He toes off his shoes at the door and goes to his bedroom,shucking off his pants and jacket and falling on to his bed. He closes his eyes and rolls over on his side, pillowing his head under his arm. The sleepiness that toyed with him earlier returns, making his body feel heavy and warm.

 

He’s not too sure how long he dozes but he wakes up with a jolt to the sound of his phone vibrating, buried in his cast off pants tossed somewhere on the floor. Jongin gets up and fumbles around, finally locating it. He’s not sure why he’s so surprised to see that the text is from Taemin.

 

**(2:23) taemin:**  im trying to sleep but i realized that u never told me what u think the story in our new song is

 

Jongin smiles to himself. 

 

**(2:25) jongin** : ive decided that im gonna take a page from u and wait until the song is done. 

 

**(2:26) taemin:** :[ no fun

 

**(2:27)** **jongin:** :)

 

Jongin puts his phone face down on the nightstand and falls back asleep. There’s a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've finally touched each other! It's a miracle. As always, Chanyeol is my favorite person to write.
> 
> A little more [background](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Kim_Sisters) on the Kim Sisters. [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoHKHIDJ_x0) is Try to Remember. Yes, it is actually in Captain America: Civil War. I was also very surprised.
> 
> And the article is real! I tweaked the title a bit so if the author (or anyone else tbh) ever goes looking for it, they won't find this fic. (LOL, self preservation, etc., etc.) If you decide that you want to read it, let me know and I can pull it for you (sorry, once an academic, always an academic).
> 
>  
> 
> As always--please let me know what you think/if you like this at all. I'm slowly starting to hate this fic more and more but that's probably because I'm still deep in it. But who knows. Maybe it's actually garbage. (writing is really hard).
> 
> I'll probably only do one update next week--I'm about to go out of town for a bit. Hopefully this will tide you all over.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“No phones out on the floor!” Irene yells at Jongin as she comes out from the back.

 

Jongin glares at her over his shoulder. “You have your phone out all the time!”

 

“But I don’t stand frozen at the bar texting with a stupid sappy smile on my face like you do,” she fires back. “And it’s way too busy tonight for you to be wasting time texting.” He can hear Joy laughing from where she’s stacking napkins under the bartop.

 

As if on cue, his phone buzzes in his hand. Another text from Taemin complaining about his latest piano student who’d showed up thirty minutes late to their seven o’clock lesson. 

 

**(20:26) taemin:** if ur gonna b that late then just dont show up. i could hve used the time to work on music.

 

**(20:27) taemin:** or sleep or eat or get high or smoke all my cigarettes or watch tv or literally do anything else. :(

 

Jongin smiles at the last text, unable to contain his response to Taemin’s antics.

 

“See!” Irene has her hands on her hips, looking at Jongin indignantly. “You’re grinning like an idiot. Junmyeon, tell him to put his phone away!”

 

Junmyeon doesn’t even turn away from the customers that he’s serving. “I’m staying out of this.”

 

**(20:33) taemin:** im boreeddd :[

 

**(20:35) jongin:** and im being scolded for having my phone out while working. ill text u when im done.

 

**(20:36) taemin:** dont leave me!!! D:

 

Jongin pockets his phone and goes to help two new customers waiting at the bar.

 

“You done flirting with Taemin?” Irene asks when he’s in the middle of closing tabs.

 

“I was never flirting with Taemin?” 

 

“Bullshit.” She pinches him on the shoulder, making Jongin flinch. “It’s not like you were texting Baekhyun. No one else makes you smile like that.”

 

“Baekhyun makes me smile.”

 

Irene rolls her eyes. “Not like that he doesn’t. Stop lying to me. Hell, stop lying to  _ yourself _ . It was Taemin.”

 

Jongin hands credit cards back to their owners and then sighs at Irene. It’s been two weeks since he spent that Saturday at the recording studio. Two weeks since Taemin had pressed him into the couch and put his mouth in places that made Jongin moan. He hadn’t seen Taemin since then-- life had caught up to them and they’d both been busy: Jongin with papers, Taemin with music, both with work. Instead, they’d resorted to texting, exchanging probably hundreds of texts a day. They’d finally branched out from music and now talked about everything and anything, Jongin talking about his classes and the various antics at the Green Line, Taemin whining about the ongoing rain and his piano students, sending funny selfies whenever he had the chance. Every time he gets a text, Jongin can’t help but be struck by how  _ easy _ it is to talk to Taemin, how funny he is, how genuinely interested he is in the contours of Jongin’s day. There’s no strain, no tension. Talking to Taemin feels like the simplest thing in the world.

 

“Ok, yeah. It was him.”

 

The shriek that Irene lets out is almost feral. “I have been WAITING for this,” She pumps a fist into the air, “for SO LONG.”

 

Jongin looks at her like she’s crazy. “What the hell? Why?”

 

“Because we all knew that you and Taemin had something going on. Ever since that first night when the two of you were weird and antisocial and hid in the kitchen talking forever? And Yeri told me that you went to Manhwa’s recording session the other day. Clearly, Taemin likes you. He doesn’t just go after people randomly.”

 

Jongin feels his heart leap. “How do you know?”

 

Irene rolls her eyes at him. “Yeri. She and I do talk all the time. And she does spend a lot of time with Taemin.”

 

Jongin can’t quell the rush of happiness that falls over his chest.

 

“What else do you know?” he asks her. He feels like Baekhyun.

 

Irene smiles at him and then turns away. “I’m not telling,” she calls over her shoulder. She heads back towards the back room. “You gotta figure that all out on your own.”

 

“You’re a terrible friend!” Jongin shouts after her. 

 

“Am not!” Irene’s voice barely carries over the din on the main floor. “Come back here and help me carry out the new bottles of tequila!”

 

Jongin huffs and follows after her.

\---

 

“Can I get a bourbon?”

 

“Yeah, one second.” Jongin finishes placing a fresh bottle of tequila on the shelf and then turns around. Taemin is standing on the other side of the bar, leaning both elbows on the countertop.

 

“Hi,” he says, grinning at him.

 

Jongin stares at him in return, a slow smile spreading over his face. It’s  _ good _ to see Taemin, especially after what feels like an eternity. Instead of panic or confusion, Jongin only feels excitement. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Jongin asks. “I thought you were at home.”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I was at home. But I was bored. I figured I’d come visit you at work.”

 

“My shift is almost over though. It’s already ten thirty.” Jongin can see Irene lurking just off to the side. She gives him a huge thumbs up.

 

Taemin shrugs again and sits on one of the stools. “Then I’m here until it lasts. Thirty minutes is more than enough time to drink a bourbon.”

 

Jongin laughs at him and shakes his head. “Fair enough,” he says. “One bourbon, coming up.”

 

There’s a rush of customers for the last part of Jongin’s shift and he spends the half hour running back and forth, trying to serve as many people as he can. He throws an apologetic smile at Taemin while he mixes a set of complicated cocktails for a horde of girls celebrating a birthday. Taemin just smiles at him and salutes him with his glass, apparently amused by watching Jongin flit from person to person.

 

“I am so sorry,” Jongin finally says when the clock hits eleven and he’s free to go. “Tonight was crazy.”

 

“Not a huge deal,” Taemin drains the last of his bourbon, the ice cubes clinking in the empty glass. “It was kind of cute, watching you run around the bar like that. If nothing else, it was a lot more interesting than sitting in my room doing nothing.” He takes out his wallet. “How much do I owe you for the bourbon?”

 

Jongin shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop him. “Nope. Drinks are on me when you come here.”

 

He pockets his wallet. “I won’t complain about free alcohol. Though. . .”

 

“Though?”

 

“You should let me reciprocate. You free now?”

 

Jongin raises an eyebrow at him. “Right now? It’s eleven p.m.”

 

Taemin looks at him levelly. “Yep,” he says slowly. “It’s almost eleven. You don’t have class until late in the afternoon tomorrow, right?”

 

“Well yeah. . . .” Jongin runs through his mental list of everything that he has to do; he has one last article to read before his thesis meeting tomorrow at 3 and a class at 1:30. And he’d wanted to get ahead on the lit review that he needed to write to prep for his comprehensives. He’s hit with a wave of deja vu, only this time instead of Baekhyun, it’s Taemin looking at him expectantly from across the bar. 

 

Well. Everything had worked out the first time around. More or less.

 

“Alright,” Jongin says.

 

“Want to come over to mine for a bit? I can finally make even on this drink equation.”

 

Jongin grins back at him. “Sure. Let me grab my stuff from the back and I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes?” 

 

“Works for me.”

 

Baekhyun would be proud.

\---

 

Taemin is scrolling through his phone, his back leaning against the Green Line’s black painted brick facade. He turns towards Jongin as soon as he comes through the door.

 

“You’re back,” he says, quietly. The smile that lights up Taemin’s face is stunning. He pushes off the wall and walks over to Jongin, coming to stand next to him.

 

“I’m back.”

 

“You ready?” Taemin nods in the general direction of the metro.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

It’s another cool night, springtime having surrendered to the chill of winter just as the sun had set. Even at this late hour, the streets are full of people, men and women still in their work clothes and coats streaming up and down the sidewalks, teenagers and college kids talking and laughing as they go past, their voices carrying over the sound of the cars whizzing past. Taemin starts humming to himself, his head tilted back and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

 

“What are you humming?” Jongin asks.

 

Taemin looks at him. “Nothing really,” he replies. “Just something I made up. It’s been running through my head all day.”

 

He goes back to humming.

 

“How was your day?” Taemin asks after he pauses. “We didn’t text much today.”

 

“Alright,” Jongin replies. The elaborate arches in front of the Chinatown metro stop come into view and he looks up, admiring for the first time since he moved to D.C. the way they look down on the vibrant streets, like ornate sentinels. “Nothing super fascinating.”

 

“Tell me about it anyway.”

 

Jongin bites his lip and smiles at Taemin.

 

“Ok.”

 

\---

 

The metro is just as packed as the streets, people crammed into every seat and hanging off of every grab rail. They find a spot to stand near the back, both of them forced to lean against the wall, pressed close to one another, their arms brushing at the close contact. Taemin smiles at Jongin, looking up at him through his bangs. Jongin smiles back, holding his gaze, almost afraid to blink, not wanting to break contact. They stay like that throughout the entire ride, not saying anything, just looking, just smiling. It feels comfortable that way, safe. Like they’re the only two people in entire metro car.

 

The comfortable silence holds; through their walk from the Columbia Heights station, through the quiet neighborhood streets, to the front door of Taemin’s house. Taemin unlocks the front door.

 

“Are you hungry or anything?” Taemin asks as they both step inside. He heads into the kitchen, Jongin following behind.

 

Jongin shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.” The kitchen is empty though someone else had left the lights on. Everything looks the same as it did the last time he was there; countertops cluttered with pots and pans, a stack of clean dishes left to dry on the drying rack, a mesh bag of oranges sitting on the kitchen table. 

 

“Ok.” Taemin opens the same cabinet as last time and rummages around before taking down a bottle of vodka. “Looks like we’re out of bourbon so no repeat of last time. Can you settle for vodka instead?”

 

Jongin eyes the bottle of vodka that Taemin holds up. It’s one of the jumbo bottles of the Costco brand that he recognizes from way too many college parties.

 

“Fine with me,” he says. “But please tell me you have something to mix it with.”

 

Taemin laughs. “Oh hell yeah, don’t worry.” He opens another cabinet and takes down a bottle of ginger ale. “This shit tastes like lighter fluid on its own.” He sets about making them both drinks, snatching two glasses off of the drying rack and getting ice from the freezer.

 

“Here you go.” Taemin hands one to Jongin. “Cheers.” He lifts his own glass to his lips, sipping at it slowly.

 

Jongin toasts him back and takes his own sip. It’s more ginger ale than vodka and the fizz tickles his nose making him sneeze.

 

Taemin laughs at him. “Too strong?”

 

“Too many bubbles.”

 

Taemin toasts him again. “I’ll make sure to use cranberry juice next time.” He takes another sip. “Do you want to go upstairs? We can watch Netflix or something?”

 

“I thought you were bored of sitting alone in your room?” Jongin takes another sip of his drink, trying to quell the nerves that blossomed at the thought of them being alone in Taemin’s room.

 

“I won’t be alone this time,” Taemin teases back. “It’ll be way more interesting with you in there with me.” He takes Jongin’s free hand. “Come on.”

 

They go upstairs, heading down a narrow hallway. Light is streaming out from underneath one of the bedroom doors and Jongin can hear loud hip hop thumping through the floorboards.  _ Minho _ , Taemin mouths as they pass by and enter the bedroom at the very end of the hall.

 

Jongin isn’t sure what he expected Taemin’s room to be like, but this isn’t anything that he had in mind.

 

It’s a small space, smaller than Jongin’s own cramped bedroom with walls the same color of the sky on a rainy day, a cool blue gray. He has posters strung up--mostly band posters, many the cover art for albums that Jongin can’t name. There’s a bed shoved underneath the windows, neatly made and piled with pillows. The window blinds are slotted open, the light from the streetlamp across the street streaking even lines of amber across the bedspread. There’s a rickety nightstand next to the bed that looks older than both Jongin and Taemin combined, with a green banker’s lamp and what looks like nearly twenty notebooks stacked on top. The room is much less chaotic than he would have thought, more orderly in its own frenzy.

 

“This is it.” Taemin toes off his shoes and leaves them by the door. He flops on the bed and pulls his laptop out from underneath one of the pillows. Jongin takes off his own shoes and then joins him on the bed, sitting down next to where Taemin is sprawled out.

 

“Anything look interesting?” Taemin is scrolling through Netflix, frowning at the selection. “I feel like I’ve already watched everything worth watching on this hell site.”

 

“Anything is fine with me.” Jongin lays down on his back, staring up at the posters in the blue-white glow of the laptop. On second glance, he realizes that he recognizes more of the artists than he thought. There’s the swimming baby from Nirvana’s  _ Nevermind _ ;  the sepia and scarlet cover of Janet Jackson’s  _ The Velvet Rope _ ; the cover of  _ Parade _ with Prince in his crop top cast in black and white, posing dramatically; Miyavi with his back to the camera, his guitar and his intricate tattoos on display and--

 

“Wait,” Jongin says, pointing at a colorful poster to the left. “Is that H.O.T.?”

 

Taemin looks up and follows Jongin’s finger. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve had it for ages. My cousin, Key--you met him the other day--got it for me when he went to Korea. I loved them when I was growing up.”

 

Jongin laughs. “My oldest sister was obsessed with them. She made me learn the entire dance to Outside Castle.”

 

Taemin bursts out laughing, covering his mouth. “I knew it too!” He switches the browser over to Youtube, bringing up the music video. “Damn, I haven’t watched this in forever.” Taemin starts dancing in place, perfectly marking the choreography with his arms. He’s so good and his energy is so infectious that by the time the chorus hits, Jongin is dancing along with him, laughing with Taemin each time that they fumble the moves, their shoulders pressing into each other with each roll left. Taemin sings and raps along, trading lines with Jongin, the two of them dissolving into giggles. The video ends and We Are The Future comes up on autoplay and they watch that one too, singing along, and laughing at the outfits and miming the choreography to one another. Jongin’s not sure how much time they spend like that, going through songs that pull him all the way back to Sunday afternoons in Korean school.

 

“Fuck,” Taemin says, hitting pause. His eyes are still dancing with humor. “I haven’t listened to any of those songs in years. I’d forgotten how ridiculous the videos are.” He reaches down and grabs his glass from where he left it on the floor, finishing it in one long drink. Taemin drinks with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, the long curve of his neck caught in a beam of light. Jongin watches the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the entire action rendered in slow motion.

 

Taemin opens his eyes and catches Jongin staring. He smirks at him, playful.

 

“Yeah?” he says. He sets the empty glass on the nightstand. 

 

Jongin blushes, feeling all of his nerves rush back to him. “Nothing.”

 

Taemin scoots a bit closer and Jongin can feel the heat coming off of Taemin’s body. He looks so young in his oversized hoodie; the deep green of the fabric highlighting the warm undertones in his skin, ethereal in the mixed gold and and blue bath of light, his figure drowning in the folds of fabric. Jongin wants to grab on to him, dig his fingers into the soft fleece and sink in with him.

 

“Are you not going to finish your drink?” Taemin reaches out and places a hand on top of Jongin’s own where it rests flat on the bedspread. He’s so warm.

 

“No.” Jongin keeps his voice low. 

 

“No?”

 

Jongin nods. “I think I want to be sober tonight.”

 

Taemin smiles at him. “Sober for me?” He tightens his grip on Jongin’s hand.

 

“Maybe.” Jongin twines their fingers together. “Or maybe just sober for myself.”

 

“Sober for yourself is good too.”

 

Taemin is gentler like this, away from the bright lights of the stage. Stripped away from the hysteria of the crowds, the reverberation of the bass, the bravado. He is so close. He feels familiar, like he’s always been here, just in front of Jongin. Just close enough for him to reach out and touch.

 

And so Jongin does.

 

He grips Taemin’s hand tighter in his own hand and pulls him nearer, closer, close enough that he can finally lean in and kiss him.

 

Taemin sighs into the kiss, parting his lips and letting Jongin in. He takes his free hand and grips at Jongin’s shirt, tugging him even closer, like he wants nothing else than to feel the press of their bodies pushing up against one another. 

 

Jongin has kissed enough people in his life, enough that he’s felt it all--kisses heady with lust, sweet kisses that make his toes curl, soft kisses that hold a promise for later. But this, kissing Taemin is something else entirely. It melts away all of his shyness, all of his apprehension and instead leaves Jongin flung wide open, his every nerve alight with the livewire burning for Taemin, his every thought consumed with  _ wantwantwantwant _ . Taemin tastes warm and sweet like bourbon and ginger ale and Jongin swallows him down. If he could, he’d get drunk this way, he thinks, his eyes sliding closed. He’d drink the alcohol straight out of Taemin’s mouth, let the headiness of Taemin’s kiss be his chaser. Nothing should ever feel this good.

 

He moans, and Taemin’s hand moves from Jongin’s shirt to fist in his hair, tugging lightly at the root. Taemin breaks away lowers them down, on to the bed so that they’re both laying on their sides before reclaiming Jongin’s lips. They kiss for a long while, the laptop shoved back under the pillows, the bed sheets tangled underneath them in their writhing. They’ve both lost their shirts and Jongin’s entire body is hot with Taemin’s touch. Taemin is panting into his neck. 

 

“Jongin,” Taemin whispers into Jongin’s skin, making him shiver. His fingers skirt up his chest to graze over a nipple, making Jongin gasp. His hand slides down, down, to the band of Jongin’s jeans. “How far are you willing to go right now?”

 

Jongin gasps just at the thought of having more of Taemin, his fingers tightening where they’ve roosted in Taemin’s hair.  “Pretty far.”

 

“Do you want to have sex?” Taemin kisses him again, his lips sticking slightly against Jongin’s own. “Would you be up for that?”

 

Taemin looks at him, his eyes unreadable in the dim light.

 

“Yeah.” Jongin bites at his own lip, his heart stopped, heavy in his chest. He can hardly breathe. “I think so.”

 

Taemin is all pale skin and gold when he raises himself from the bed to get a bottle of lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer. He sits up on the edge of the bed and Jongin watches as he sheds his jeans and boxers in one go, leaving his entire body on display. His body is made up of long lines and smooth definition, his muscles faint but strong underneath his skin. Jongin can’t help but stare.

 

“This is your first time, right?” Taemin asks as he lays back down, facing him. “With a guy?”

 

Jongin nods, swallowing his words. 

 

“Do you want to top then?” Taemin kisses at his chest, his tongue slipping out to circle around his nipple. Jongin gasps. “Do you mind?”

 

“No.” Jongin reaches down to brush the hair out of Taemin’s eyes. He just wants to keep touching him. “I want that, too.”

 

Taemin raises his head to look at him. He’s still smiling. “Perfect.”

 

Taemin pulls away and undoes the top button of Jongin’s pants.

 

“Take these off for me.”

 

Jongin sits up, rolling his jeans and then his underwear off of his legs, tossing them next to Taemin’s on the floor. He lays back down next to him, knowing that he should feel at least kind of self conscious but this time, he doesn’t. Taemin raises himself up on one arm, blatantly looking down to check out his body, and Jongin doesn’t feel like he wants to flinch away. He lays back, folds both of his arms underneath his head, feeling more secure in his nudity than he ever has. He lets Taemin look, enjoying the way all of Taemin’s focus is isolated on him and him only. He’s hard, his cock heavy between his legs and he spreads his thighs, letting Taemin take all of him in.

 

“You’re so ridiculously hot,” Taemin whispers, running a hand down Jongin’s stomach. “Your abs are insane. How the hell do you look like this?”

 

Jongin blushes. “Genetics, I guess?”

 

“I don’t know what the people are like out in L.A. but you all must be genetically modified or something.”  

 

Taemin lets his hand drop lower, taking Jongin’s dick in his hand, stroking it, once, twice, three times, making Jongin hiss.

 

“Goddamn.” Taemin’s voice is quiet with awe. “You have the prettiest skin, you know that right? It’s like you can always see the all warmth running underneath.”

 

Taemin lets his hand drop away and he lays back down, uncapping the lube as he goes. He presses his lips against Jongin’s.

 

“You should watch me,” he murmurs into his mouth. Taemin leans away and coats two of his fingers before spreading his own legs and slipping them down to touch himself. 

 

Jongin’s mouth drops open as Taemin closes his own eyes and bites his bottom lip, his teeth worrying into the soft skin. It’s amazing, the way that Taemin’s body responds to his own touch, the way his back arches off of the mattress, the way his cock stiffens and presses up against his stomach in a beautiful arc. It’s like watching Taemin perform, like watching him give his all on stage, with the same irreverent energy and sensual grace. Jongin can’t keep his eyes off of him. Jongin takes himself in his hand and starts to stroke himself, trying to stay in tandem with the way that Taemin fingers himself. He can’t help it.

 

Taemin gasps and then removes his fingers, opening his eyes.

 

“Are you ready?” he asks Jongin. 

 

Jongin’s body is so hot, like he swallowed all of the light in the room. He feels like he’ll implode if he doesn’t get to touch Taemin.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Taemin leans in to kiss him, once more, and pushes himself up, straddling Jongin’s hips. He strokes Jongin again getting him to full hardness and then rolls the condom down. He pours more lube into the palm of his hand and then slicks Jongin up, the smooth sensation sending shivers down Jongin’s spine.

 

“Don’t stop looking at me.” Taemin’s voice is heavy with each word.

 

He sinks down on Jongin, so hot and tight and wet that Jongin has to fight to keep his eyes open, choosing instead to press his fingers into Taemin’s hips, trying to keep himself anchored. He’s never felt anything like this. Nothing has ever felt so good.

 

Taemin sets the pace, riding Jongin with a deep, slow grind of his hips, making all of the heat in their bodies pool at the point of their joining. Jongin takes a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with something, anything, and Taemin grins wickedly, increasing the pace.

 

Even tucked away in their own frantic tiny world, even in this moment distilled down to just their two bodies and their own quiet friction and frenzy, Taemin still screams with the same kinetic energy of his songs, still gives Jongin everything he has. The light comes in through the blinds,  spreading golden veins across his skin and he’s so beautiful. His hands are splayed, hot and burning, across Jongin’s thighs, his fingers digging into the muscle; his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, his head tilted back towards the ceiling, his bangs clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes stay open, looking down, not leaving Jongin’s face, like he’s trying to see through him, trying to read everything minute thought and wave of pleasure passing through his body.

 

_ This is what your songs are about _ , Jongin thinks as he thrusts upwards, trying to keep beat with Taemin’s pace.  _ They’re about moments like this, when everything melts down to the deep want of craving someone else. _

 

Taemin cries out, his head bowing towards Jongin’s chest. “Touch me please,” he pants, his breaths short and staccato.

 

And so Jongin does, reaching through the haze to wrap a hand around Taemin’s dick, pulling on him in the same way that he touches himself, with long, sure strokes, letting his thumb rub across the tip. Taemin’s eyes finally squeeze shut, his breathing accelerating and he gasps again, coming into Jongin’s hand.

 

The force of his orgasm makes Taemin clench around Jongin and it’s too much-- it’s too hot, too tight-- and Jongin loses control, his body contracting and then sighing, his own release making him feel like a gust billows through him, sweeping him away from this bed, from this moment and taking him to a swell of light, brighter than anything he’s ever seen. 

 

They stay like that for a while, as if frozen by the sheer force of their bodies. Taemin opens his eyes and climbs off of Jongin. He sits up and takes a fistful of tissues off of the nightstand, handing half to Jongin who sits up next to him, slipping off and tying off the condom. Taemin uses the rest to wipe himself off and then drops everything on the floor.

 

“I’ll handle it later,” he says and Jongin does the same.

 

Taemin rearranges the sheets and then lays down, his head at the foot of the bed. He gestures for Jongin to do the same.

 

“Stay?” he asks him as he lays down. Taemin wraps both arms around Jongin’s middle, pillowing his head on Jongin’s chest.

 

Jongin rests one hand on the smooth plane of Taemin’s shoulder and hums in response.

 

“Okay.”

\---

 

**(14:29) jongin:** i actually think all ur songs r about longing. Longing and desire. i might have been right all along.

 

**(14:45) taemin:** so ur saying that we only sing love songs…

 

**(14:47) jongin** : kind of. theyre not exactly love songs. theyre more than that. its like all ur songs are about pursuit. about trying to have someone. theyre not about love.

 

**(14:54) taemin:**  i hate love songs. so thats good to hear.

 

\---

 

If Taemin is a song, then Jongin keeps him on repeat.

 

They keep texting, tiny blips of communication dotted throughout each hour of their days. If they texted a lot before, it’s now reached a different level. Every time that Jongin checks his phone after a class or after work, he finds a barrage of texts from Taemin talking about everything and anything, sharing every passing thought that flits through his mind. They text until they fall asleep every night, fighting to see who will say the last goodnight.

 

He sees the parts of Taemin that he keeps tucked away. Taemin is  _ funny _ ; he’s silly, he’s clumsy, he teases Jongin, makes him laugh at things that shouldn’t ever be funny. And he listens. To everything Jongin has to say. 

 

Jongin goes to every Manhwa show he can, racing from the Green Line or the library to the metro trying to make it just in time to watch Taemin walk out on stage, carrying all the light with him. But every time he stands in the melee, feeling lost in the squeeze of the audience, Taemin finds him; seeking out his eyes amongst all the others, locking gazes and smirking into the microphone as if telling him to  _ wait for me _ .

 

And Jongin does, every time. Sometimes he goes with Baekhyun or Irene. But more often, he’s alone, waiting right by the stage doors once Manhwa goes off stage, letting Taemin pull him into his arms, his skin damp with exertion, his body vibrating with the residual energy of his performance. Sometimes Taemin will kiss him right there, in front of everyone else uncaring of their exclamations. Sometimes Taemin will pull him away, the two of them sneaking away to a dark corner or locking themselves in a bathroom stall where they grip and touch and tug at one another, kissing with sheer desperation. Taemin, hopped up on post concert endorphins, pushing the boundaries of public acceptability, sometimes sinking to knees to take Jongin in his mouth, sometimes reaching behind him to slide his fingers inside of him, urging Jongin to cry out.

 

_ Let them hear you. I want them to know that I’m doing this to you. _

 

They always find their way into Taemin’s room, door locked, the two of them on the bed playing and replaying all the ways that make them cry out and crest and climax. Falling asleep next to each other, their limbs tangled together, Jongin waking up with the pink glow of the sunrise, watching the placid way that Taemin breathes in his sleep, his face tranquil in the early morning light.

 

This is the only song that Jongin wants to hear. 

 

He doesn’t want to think about the bundle of complications written in the liner notes.

 

\---

 

“Well shit. You actually do live here.”

 

Jongin lifts his head from his pillow. The light from the hallway sears his tired eyes and he squints in the direction of his open bedroom door. Sehun is silhouetted in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“What the hell, Sehun?” Jongin sits up, feeling groggy. He’d only just gotten home about an hour ago, having to leave Taemin alone in his bed. Jongin has an early thesis meeting and he didn’t want to risk being late. He checks his phone. It’s just after 3:30.

 

“I’m just surprised to see you here,” Sehun says. “In our apartment. That you pay rent for. It’s been a while.”

 

Jongin flops back down on his bed. 

 

“Can we have this conversation when I’m, like, eighty-five percent more awake, please?”

 

He turns his head so that he can still see Sehun. Sehun doesn’t move.

 

“Well. Do you trust him?” Sehun surveys him from the doorway. Jongin doesn’t have to ask who he’s referring to.

 

Jongin lifts his head up from his pillows, craning his neck just enough so that he can see his friend’s face. “I do,” he says, remembering the way Taemin had held on to him yesterday morning, his arms wrapped tightly around Jongin’s waist. And the way Taemin had been with him the night before, somehow both passionate and soft.

 

Sehun shrugs. “I trust you enough to know that you’re probably not making a mistake,” he says. “But Jongin? Be careful.”

 

“Got it Sehunnie.” Jongin lays back down. 

 

\---

**(15:39) taemin** : it is done.  link .

 

Jongin closes the book in front of him and clicks on the link.

 

He immediately recognizes it as the song from his Saturday in the studio, though it’s been remixed; the opening melody fleshed out with filtered drums and rolling bass. It matches the husky trill of Taemin’s voice, balanced out with the rich fullness of Seulgi’s background vocals. Everything about the production of the song--from the rhythm, to the beat, to the instrumentals--clicks together and Jongin closes his eyes, leaning back in his desk chair, letting the song sink into him.

 

All of the same desperation and wet longing from the earlier version remain but now it’s stronger, headier, the lyrics exploding in brilliant, burning flares behind his eyes, soaking his imagination in light brighter than any Jongin has ever seen. It’s still not a love song. But it stirs something inside Jongin, mashing his emotions together into a raging tempest, beyond anything he’s ever felt before.

  
  


**(21:38) jongin:**  i think i have name for that song if u still want it.

 

**(21:43) taemin:** about time. pls share.

 

**(21:45) jongin:** spectral line

 

**(21:50) taemin:** ...ur gonna have to give me the reasoning behind that one.

 

\---

 

Jongin carries his churning emotions with him. They play soundtrack to his life, first on low volume as he goes about his day to day, working and studying, and then, louder as he lies in Taemin’s bed, late at night, listening to the other man’s soft breathing, his feelings so loud he’s afraid he’ll wake him up. It’s a heavy weight. So heavy that it threatens to overwhelm him, so heavy that Jongin isn’t really sure what to do. It’s more than he expected, far more than he bargained for. It might be more than he can handle. 

 

But. 

 

All Jongin knows is that Taemin makes him feel. Feel more alive. Feel more whole. Feel depths of emotions that fall outside of boundaries of each day, taking him to a place beyond what daylight can show him. To a place drenched in blue light and diffuse music, full of touches balmy like the late spring air, full of tender laughter and quiet understandings, full of things that Jongin never thought he could have. Never dared himself to want.

 

He’s not sure how he got here, not too sure why he’s here carrying Taemin in a part of his heart. 

He’s not sure why he’s hoping that Taemin has a space in his chest for him, too.

 

Chanyeol’s description of Taemin is finally starting to make sense.

 

\---

“I’m not used to seeing you like this.” Baekhyun says, dumping hot sauce on his burrito. “All dreamy and shit. You alright? Did Taemin steal your soul?”

 

It’s Monday and Jongin is sitting across Baekhyun in the campus Chipotle. Baekhyun had called him late last night complaining that he ‘never gets to see his mentee’ and that he ‘thought they were best friends, how could you ignore me like this?’. So Jongin sleepily agreed to get lunch with him for the first time in entirely too long.

 

“I don’t look any different than I usually do.” 

 

“That’s cause you’re too busy ignoring your reflection.” Baekhyun takes a huge bite. He keeps talking with his mouth full. Jongin looks at him, pained. “Take it from someone who used to spend a ton of time staring at your face. You looked all blissed out.”

 

“You’re insane.” Jongin picks at his chicken burrito bowl.

 

“Or you can just admit that you’re happy. And that your boyfriend makes you happy.”

 

Jongin bites his tongue at  _ boyfriend _ . “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

Baekhyun raises both eyebrows at him. “And Chanyeol’s not mine,” he says sarcastically. “You two spend all your free time together, you text all the time, you basically live in his bedroom. If you’re not dating then I’m blind and stupid.”

 

“We’ve. . .never talked about it,” Jongin admits, his complicated feelings rising to the top, souring his mouth. “We’re just kind of. . .going with it.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at him. “Do you want him, Jongin?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

 

“Well you need to decide what you want first. If the answer is Taemin, then you should find a way to tell him. You both deserve transparency.”

 

Jongin spears a piece of chicken. “I guess you’re right.”

 

Baekhyun takes another bite of his food. “I always am.”

 

Jongin doesn’t feel anymore at ease.

 

\---

 

“Should I be concerned?” The overhead lights click on and Jongin squints, his living room snapping into focus, the sudden brightness straining at his eyes. Sehun is standing in front of the sofa, his tall body looming over where Jongin is sitting. 

 

“I’m fine,” Jongin says, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m just sitting here.”

 

“Sitting alone in the dark at midnight on a Monday isn’t really healthy, Jongin.” Sehun sits down next to him, just close enough that their knees knock against each other. “What’s wrong?”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “Nothing.”

 

“Don’t pull that shit with me, you’re thinking so loudly that you’re giving me a headache.”

 

“That’s not even possible.”

 

“That’s what you think. You’re not the one who has to live with you.” Sehun nudges him in the shoulder and stands up. “Get up. I’m hungry.”

 

“What does you being hungry have to do with me?” Jongin protests. He gets up anyways and follows Sehun into the kitchen.

 

“You’re going to eat with me.” Sehun takes two bowls down from the cabinet and pours out two servings from the box of Cheerios on the counter. “Unlike you, I’m not into doing things alone late at night.”

 

Jongin pouts at him as he sits down at the kitchen table. Sehun places both bowls on the table and then goes to the fridge, grabbing the milk. He comes back to the table and sits down across from Jongin, handing him a spoon and pouring milk for the two of them.

 

He eats a mouthful and then points his spoon at Jongin. “Now. Talk.”

 

Jongin sighs and stirs his cereal around.

 

“I think I want more from Taemin,” he admits. It’s the first time that he’s said it outloud and the words feel strange on his tongue. “Like I think…” he trails off, biting his lip. “I think I want to date him?”

 

“Aren’t you doing that now? You spend all the time that you’re not at work or in studying with him. You go to almost all his shows. That’s like, what, thirty-five percent of your life?”

 

Jongin shakes his head and eats a spoonful of cereal. The milk is too cold in his mouth. “Not really. Like. We’ve never talked about what we are. He’s never expressed that he wants me. You know. Me and only me.”

 

“So you want him to be your boyfriend.” Sehun chews thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “Have you talked to him about any of this? Or has he said anything to you?”’

 

“No. I don’t know how to.”

 

Both of Sehun’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean you don’t know how?”

 

Jongin sighs. “I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know if he wants me.” He puts his spoon down in his bowl. “I don’t know what a relationship between the two of us would even be like. If he’s even the dating type.”

 

“Has he ever talked about past relationships?”

 

“Not really?” He shrugs. “He’s mentioned a few things here and there, but nothing that’s seemed serious.”

 

“So you can be his first.” 

 

“It’s not that simple.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because!” Jongin runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Because nothing is that simple. Because I have no idea what I’m doing or how to be in a relationship or what a relationship with Taemin would even look like. We’re so different.”

 

“Different doesn’t always mean bad.” Sehun brings his bowl up to his lips and slurps down the milk. “You and I are different. You and Baekhyun are different. But we’re still your best friends.”

 

“That’s not the same.”

 

“It’s not? Aren’t friendships also relationships?”

 

“Yeah, but.” Jongin pauses. “It’s not the same.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because--” he fights to find the right words. “Because friendships aren’t as high stakes. Friendship doesn’t make me feel as uncertain.”

 

“That’s dumb as hell. Friendships are still a type of relationship. They’re just as important. And anyways.You can either lean into the uncertainty or you can push it away.” Sehun gets up from the table with his bowl and puts it in the sink. He turns on the faucet and starts soaping up the sponge.

 

“But you need to realize that if you push the uncertainty away, you’ll also be pushing Taemin away.” Jongin watches as Sehun starts scrubbing at the bowl in that weird, overly aggressive way that he washes all dishes. 

 

“How would I be pushing him away?” Jongin mumbles. He pushes his cereal around in his bowl. A few Cheerios bob pitfully in the milk while the rest sink down to the bottom, gone soggy and mushy. “I can be confused and still see him.”

 

The faucet shuts off and there’s a clink as Sehun places the bowl on the drying rack. “You can be confused and still see him, but if you decide to reject your uncertainty, then you’re rejecting Taemin as well. Being uncertain is a normal part of a relationship, you know?” Sehun dries his hands off on his jeans and then comes back over to the table, sitting across from Jongin again. Jongin looks up, meeting his friend’s warm eyes. “You can’t have a relationship if you’re not uncertain or unsure of yourself or the person that you’re seeing. If you knew everything about your partner or if you could predict every next step that your relationship is going to take, then there’s no point in dating.”

 

Jongin frowns and puts his spoon down.  “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

 

Sehun sighs and leans forward, resting the point of his chin in his folded arms.

 

“Why do you date people, Jongin? Like, why does anyone date anyone?”

 

Jongin tilts his head to the side and considers Sehun’s question. Why  _ does _ anyone date anyone? There’s a difference between dating and wanting, he knows that much. Jongin knew that he wanted Taemin from the very first moment that he saw him on the stage at the Black Hat, thrust high and illuminated in front of three hundred people. And since then, Jongin has had him--he’s felt Taemin in his arms, he’s tasted the other man and swallowed and shared all that they had to give each other. But now, Jongin knows that wanting isn’t enough for him. His desire for Taemin is beyond what he had ever imagined that he could have when Taemin first kissed him. Having seen Taemin on a stage, having experienced firsthand how crowds react to him, Jongin knows that Taemin is the type of person that everyone wants. He knows that his desire doesn’t make him special. But he wants Taemin, the rest of him, the person that he is off stage, the person that Jongin has caught glimpses of in their quiet moments, when the two of them are sequestered away. Jongin wants  _ that _ . 

 

“Because they’ve seen parts of the other person that they want to hang on to,” Jongin says, finally. “Because they’ve seen the way that the other person opens up for them and they don’t want anyone else to have that.”

 

Sehun’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile and he nods.

 

“Exactly,” he replies. His eyes light up.  “And does  _ any _ of that depend on you knowing every single step that the relationship is going to take?”

 

Jongin puts his spoon down on the table, uncaring of the milk that he drips everywhere. 

 

“No,” Jongin says, quietly, realization hitting him. “I guess it doesn’t.”

 

Sehun wiggles his eyebrows at Jongin.

 

“Then stop being ridiculous and tell Taemin how you feel about him.”

 

“It’s not that easy.”

 

“Why not?” Sehun says. “Why can’t it be?”

 

“Because--” Jongin pauses. He knows that Sehun is right. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

 

“Do any of us? You’re just as clueless as the rest of us, Jongin. You don’t have to do anything special. Just go to him as you are. That’s more than enough.”

 

_ Is it enough _ ? Jongin wonders, his head spinning.  _ Am I enough _ ?

 

“When the hell did you become a relationship guru?” 

 

Sehun shrugs. “I’m a psychologist. This is kind of my thing.”

 

\---

He decides that he’ll do it on Friday.

 

Manhwa is playing at the Black Hat again, a split show with a rock band from Silver Spring. It’s a nice night, April finally breaking out of winter’s grasp, and the air feels good on Jongin’s cheeks as he walks the few blocks from the metro station. He’s alone tonight--Baekhyun caught up with lab work, Sehun busy with a paper, Irene stuck working an extra shift. But it’s probably for the best. Jongin figures that he’d rather do this alone.

 

He’d spent most of his day trying to string the right words together, trying to find the right way to tell Taemin, trying to collect his courage to walk up to him and put voice to the feelings that have taken hold in his chest.

 

He wants him. He wants him to know that he wants him. He wants him to want him too.

 

The whole band is in the tiny backstage room when Jongin enters--Yeri and Chanyeol bickering over something; Yixing playing scales on Seulgi’s guitar; Seulgi sitting on the couch with Wendy perched on her lap, whispering to each other. And Taemin leaning against the corner table, his entire body in white--tight white jeans, loose white low cut shirt, his hair swept back from his face, reading something on his phone.

 

Jongin goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder, making him look up.

 

“Jongin?” he says, clearly surprised. “You didn’t tell me that you were going to come by before the show.” He smiles at him anyways, wrapping both arms around Jongin’s waist and pulling him in for a brief kiss.

 

Jongin pulls out of his embrace and takes his hand. “I have something I need to tell you.” The words come out faster than he thought they could.

 

“Ok.” Taemin nods, his eyebrows shooting up. “Let’s go outside.”

 

The sidewalk is overflowing with people, the line to enter the Black Hat wrapping around the corner. A few girls spot Taemin when they exit through the side door and they scream, pointing at him. He smiles at them briefly and waves before tugging Jongin into the narrow alleyway. It’s dark back here, the light from the street barely reaching them. 

 

“What’s up?” he asks Jongin. He leans against the wall and takes his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, shaking out one of the thin black cigarettes that Jongin has come to associate with him. He lights it and the sweet smokey clove scent rises up in the air.

 

“I--” Jongin starts. His heart is beating so fast, so hard that it feels like it’s going to leap out of his throat.

 

Taemin looks at him expectantly.

 

“What are we, Taemin?” He blurts out finally. “What are we doing?”

 

Taemin exhales, shooting a stream of smoke to the side and away from Jongin’s face.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks. His voice is quiet.

 

Jongin takes a deep breath. Exhales. Takes another.

 

“We’ve been seeing each other for over a month now,” he starts, the words slipping out in a rushing flow. “I. . .I like you. A lot.” Jongin swallows, his throat feeling like hot concrete. “I want to be with you. I want to date you. Only you.” 

 

Jongin looks straight into Taemin’s face, watching the way that he nods slowly, taking another drag off of his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing. He exhales again, the plume of smoke rising up in front of his face like a phantom. His eyes don’t tell Jongin anything.

 

“Ah.” Taemin’s voice is quiet, motionless. His eyes slide off of Jongin’s face and settle on the opposite wall.

 

“Ah?” Jongin whispers back. He feels his stomach sink to his toes.

 

Taemin keeps looking ahead. He takes another hit off of his cigarette. His face is flat. 

 

The emotions roiling around in Jongin’s chest crystallize into something sharp and dense, like the coldest winter ice. He struggles to breathe and he looks down, focusing on the litter strewn concrete.

 

“Taemin?” Jongin says, looking at their shoes. “Say something?” he swallows again. 

 

He hears Taemin push all the air out of his body with a harsh sigh. “I don’t know,” he says. “I like you a lot. But . . . I--I have so many other things to do.”

 

“And I can’t be one of those things.” It isn’t a question. Jongin already knows the answer.

 

“I don’t know.” Taemin drops his cigarette on the ground, the lit butt sparking as it rolls around on the concrete.  

 

Jongin watches as Taemin’s boots walk towards him. He feels the warm press of his hand on his shoulder. Taemin squeezes his shoulder, gently, and then leaves the alleyway. Jongin can hear the girls scream his name when he walks past.

 

Jongin stays there, in the alleyway, watching Taemin’s cigarette burn itself out.  He can hear the drums as Manhwa takes the stage. He listens to the sound of Taemin’s voice, muffled through the brick.

\---

 

**(1:19) jongin:** can we talk

 

**(7:34) jongin:** taemin?

 

**(9:03) jongin:** taemin

 

**(13:56) jongin:** taemin please.

 

**(19:28) jongin:** taemin.

 

**(22:20) jongin:** . . .

  
**(3:46) jongin:** taemin please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what a spectral line is, then here's an [explanation](http://astronomy.swin.edu.au/cosmos/S/Spectral+Line).
> 
> And if you want to experience the brilliance that is H.O.T's Outside Castle or We Are The Future, then [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pi9dg_0Iko) [you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwxHvE_Vv20) go.
> 
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> Last update for a bit--I'm about to go out of town so the last chapter will be delayed (yes, I know I changed the length of the fic--turns out I don't have enough plot left for 3 more chapters. alas).
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I love talking to you all and hearing your reactions to each update! It really makes my day :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this took so long im a mess.

Jongin’s life continues on mute.

 

He goes to school. He goes to work. He reads, he writes. He tries his best with his friends. It’s fine.

 

He spends Friday and Saturday nights alone. He FaceTimes his sisters. He talks to his nieces and nephews. They smile at him. Say they miss him. He misses them too. He smiles. He tries. It’s fine.

 

April slips quietly into May. Winter finally packs itself away and D.C. turns hot, the heat baking up from the concrete. Jongin finishes his papers for the semester. Takes his comprehensives. He passes. He starts planning his dissertation. It’s fine.

 

Jongin goes through his phone, deleting errant audio files. Digs through his email, deletes any demos lingering in his inbox. Baekhyun asks him to come out with him. He says no. He doesn’t have time for music. But. It’s fine.

 

He opens his phone late at night. Looks at the last few messages.  There’s still no reply. He wishes he could take everything back. Take back those last few texts. Take back these last few months. Take back all their kisses, all the time spent in bed. All the smiles he gave him. He wishes he could call. Wishes he would call. Knows he won’t. It’s fine.

 

Jongin’s life is quiet. But it’s fine. Everything is fine.

 

\---

 

“You look like hell.” Junmyeon comes up next to him at the register, nudging Jongin slightly with his elbow. His face is crinkled with concern. 

 

“I just didn’t sleep super well last night.” Jongin shrugs and tries to look nonchalant. It’s a struggle. “It happens.”

 

“You’ve looked like hell for  _ weeks _ , Jongin,” Junmyeon says. He leans his head on Jongin’s shoulder, his dark hair tickling Jongin’s nose. “You ok?” The concern is heavy in Junmyeon’s voice, making his words tight around the syllables.

 

“I’m fine.” Jongin opens and closes the cash drawer, letting the opening  _ ding  _ drown out his words. “I’ve just been really busy with school and stuff. I just finished comprehensives and I’m planning my dissertation. I. . .just have a lot going on.”

 

Junmyeon straightens up and looks at Jongin in the eyes, studying him carefully. Jongin feels his face heat up under the attention and he looks away. He knows he looks awful. He’s seen himself in the mirror--hell, he spent almost twenty minutes staring at himself in the bathroom this morning, looking at the sallow bags under his eyes, and the hollow, waxy color of his cheeks. He doesn’t want to watch Junmyeon take in the same flaws.

 

“Jongin. . .” Junmyeon says slowly, tenderly “You know that you can always talk to me, right? I’m always here to listen. You can even call me if you’re not at work. You have my number.” He puts a warm hand on Jongin’s shoulder. 

 

Jongin resists the urge to shrug him off and smiles at him instead, his lips wobbly around his teeth. “I know, Junmyeon. Thanks. But I’m fine, really.” Jongin barely even believes himself.

 

Junmyeon keeps his hand on his shoulder for a beat longer and then squeezes him gently.

 

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes fill with worry. “You know I’m always here for you? All of us are.” He drops his hand and then walks away, going into the back to check on something or another.

 

Jongin opens the drawer again.  _ Ding _ .

 

\---

  
  


The metro ride home is always the hardest part. 

 

D.C. wakes up in the summertime, the heat clinging to the air and sticking to the buildings until late into the night, the streets full of excited tourists and animated interns, all staying out and wandering around, trying to take in as much as the city has to give. They swarm the metro, their conversations and laughter echoing in the harsh, metallic light, their bodies pressing close together in the narrow traincar. Everything around Jongin always feels so  _ alive _ , so electric, so charged--people ready for a new experience, people soaking in the feeling of being somewhere new, somewhere with new possibilities, surrounded by strangers with so much to share, with so much life and energy. It feels lonely. It brings about a type of hollowness that bores into Jongin, making him feel all of the places inside where the absence is deepest. He’ll see two women holding hands, one leaning her head on her partner’s shoulder or he’ll watch a couple whisper into each other’s ears, laughing at something clandestine, or watch a man smile at woman from across the aisle, the two of them locked in a tiny, perfect moment of mutual acknowledgment and Jongin aches. He aches for the few moments that he had, special and full; he aches for the idea of the relationship that he thought he had. He aches for letting himself believe in the two of them. He aches for letting himself believe that he could have something as perfect and pure as two people in love.

 

The feeling lingers, all the way through his walk back to his apartment. It follows him over the threshold, into his bedroom. It stands next to him as he gets ready for bed, like a wrathful specter, sending icy shivers of doubt and loneliness down his spine. And it lays next to him in bed, keeping him cold, reminding him of all the spaces in between his body and the person he yearns for. The person who won’t hold him. The person who won’t let him hold on.

 

\---

 

**(12:52) baekhyunee:** come out w us this friday. me and sehun and the guys from KGSA. itll be fun.

 

**(1:27) jongin:** cant. busy.

 

**(1:28) baekhyunee:** uve been busy every friday for the past month. come out just this once.

 

**(2:48) jongin:** cant.

 

**(2:49) baekhyunee:** :( u cant do this to urself forever jongin

 

\---

  
  


“Nini!” 

 

Jongin snaps out of the thick mist surrounding his head and turns to Baekhyun who’s leaning over the bar top and shouting out Jongin’s name.

 

“Hey, Baekhyun.” Jongin goes over to where his friend has perched himself at the bar, trying his best to match his excited smile. The stretch hurts his lips. It’s been a while since he’s seen Baekhyun--he’d been busy with a huge experiment that kept him locked away in lab for the past few two weeks and any free time that he’d had outside of that had gone towards seeing Chanyeol. Even stuck in his own haze, Jongin has to admit that he’s missed him. Seeing his friend’s face fills him with a warmth that he hasn’t felt in so long. He takes down a clean glass and fills it with beer, placing it in front of Baekhyun.

 

Baekhyun picks up the glass and takes a sip.

 

“A radler?” he says, studying the gold liquid curiously.

 

“Thought you might want something a little different this time.” Jongin keeps smiling at him. His cheeks burn.

 

Baekhyun nods and takes another sip. “It’s good,” he says. “Summery.”

 

They’re quiet for a moment, looking at one another. Baekhyun is looking at him in that penetrating way that’s always a bit disarming and Jongin has to look away. The smile stays on his face.

 

“Can you take a break?” Baekhyun asks, suddenly. “Can you come sit with me for a bit?”

 

It’s Tuesday. Tuesdays are never very busy. “Yeah,” Jongin says. “I guess I can.”

 

They go to one of the tables in the back, away from all the other customers. Jongin sits down across from Baekhyun who takes off his snapback and puts it on the table in front of them. His roots have grown out, streaking the blond with his natural black.

 

“How are you doing?” Baekhyun asks him. His face and voice are serious, any of the usual playfulness gone.

 

“I’m fine,” Jongin answers immediately. He smiles at him again.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Jongin.” Baekhyun takes a sip of his beer. “I know you too well for you to try that.”

 

“I’m--” Jongin hesitates and the gaping feeling in his chest aches. He takes a deep breath. His smile splinters and finally crumbles. “I’m not really sure, Baekhyun. I--” his voice cracks and then the dam breaks. “I didn’t know that I would feel this way.” He bites into his bottom lip, hard. “I don’t want to feel this way.”

 

Baekhyun nods at him and reaches across the table, putting one hand on top of Jongin’s own, squeezing lightly.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jongin.” Baekhyun’s voice is low but Jongin can feel the warmth and care in every word. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Jongin nods. His throat is tight. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“You deserve all the love in the world,” Baekhyun says. “You deserve to be happy, you deserve to be loved. You have so much to give, you’ll find someone who will cherish every part of you.”

 

“How do I see past this part, though?” Jongin whispers. “How do I see past being hurt right now, how do I see past not being wanted right now?”

 

“I love you, you know that, right?” Baekhyun leans forward. “I love you, Junmyeon loves you, Sehun loves you, Irene loves you. We want you and we love having you in our lives. If it hurts now, that’s fine. Just remember that we’re always here for you. You don’t have to hurt alone.”

 

Jongin flinches. “No one ever said anything about love, Baekhyun.”

 

“You didn’t have to, Jongin,” Baekhyun says. “It’s obvious that you were, and probably still are in love with him. You wouldn’t be acting the way that you are if you hadn’t been. And even still, even if you hadn’t been in love with him, it doesn’t change the fact that all your friends still love you. And that we’re always here for you.”

 

“We weren’t even a thing that long.” Jongin closes his eyes briefly, trying to soothe the stinging prickling. “The short time that we were together wasn’t enough time for me to fall in love.”

 

“Sometimes it doesn’t take all that long,” Baekhyun says. He starts rubbing smooth circles over Jongin’s knuckles. “Sometimes it just happens. But you probably did love him, some part of him. You took a chance with him, right? You stepped out of your comfort zone, you let yourself be with a guy for the first time. You were bound to fall for him.”

 

Jongin swallows hard, trying to keep down the thick knot of emotions that have lodged themselves in his throat. Did he ever love Taemin? Was it love that made him feel like this now?

 

“I don’t know, Baekhyun,” he says instead, his voice quiet. “I don’t know. But maybe you’re right.”

 

“If I am right,” Baekhyun continues, “then you need to decide who you were actually in love with, Jongin.” Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair. He looks so tired. “I’m saying this because I care about you, ok? You’re my mentee, but you’re also one of my best friends. I can’t watch you tear yourself up over someone like this.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Baekhyun sighs and starts playing with his hat. “Were you in love with Taemin, like Taemin the person, or were you in love with Taemin the performer?” He explains. “‘Cause let me tell you this--everyone loves Manhwa Taemin. That’s the whole point. That’s why he’s the frontman of their band, that’s why Manhwa is so popular. But that, that Taemin, up on the stage, that’s not a  _ person _ Jongin. That’s an act, that’s an illusion. And you can’t love an illusion. That’s like loving a daydream. It’s not real. You can’t love something, or  _ someone _ who’s not real. That’s how you fall apart.”

 

Jongin can’t meet Baekhyun’s eyes and instead tries to fix his eyes on something, anything else, opting instead, to stare at map of the D.C. Metro on the wall behind Baekhyun’s head. He scans over the Green Line stops-- _ Waterfront, L’Enfant, Archives, Gallery Place, Mount Vernon _ \-- over and over again, trying to get his mind to focus on Baekhyun’s difficult truth-- _ Shaw, U Street, Columbia Heights _ . Baekhyun is right, and he knows it. His love for Taemin is an uncomfortable fact, one that he’d rather not face. One that he’d rather ignore because the fact of that acknowledgement, the aching pain of that truth, amplifies the sound of Taemin’s rejection. One that he’d rather ignore because it pinpoints his flaw, it shows Jongin’s weakness and his mistake; it unveils the fact that he fell for something that was never meant to be kept.

 

“I feel like such an idiot,” Jongin admits. “I wish I’d never done this, you know? I wish I’d never taken this chance.”

 

“I’m glad you did though,” Baekhyun says. “You’re a quiet person, Jongin. If I know anything about you it’s that you like to keep most of yourself tucked away until you feel comfortable with other people. And then when you do get to know someone and like them, you like to hang on, you like to try to keep them. I know how hard this thing with Taemin must have been for you. You let him in. And he said no.” Baekhyun takes a breath. “But you learned something about yourself through all of this. That’s important. That’s normal. You know what this feels like.” He stops talking for a moment and looks straight at Jongin. “It’s gonna be ok, Jongin,” he says. “It’s gonna be ok.”

 

He pauses and they stare at each other, Baekhyun taking in the sad fall of Jongin’s lips. Baekhyun has always known Jongin a little bit better than Jongin knows himself.

 

“I’m still not sure that I know what I’ve learned,” Jongin says. “All I can feel is being hurt.”

 

Baekhyun nods. “It might take awhile,” he replies. “Sometimes you don’t really know what you’ve learned until all the pain is over.”

 

They fall quiet again, the two of them sitting across from each other, Baekhyun looking at him carefully with soft eyes, Jongin running his gaze back and forth over the metro map.

 

_ Branch Avenue, Suitland, Naylor Road, Southern Avenue, Congress Heights, Anacostia, Navy Yard-- _

 

“Come out with us on Friday,” Baekhyun says suddenly, his voice brightening. Jongin snaps back into focus.  “We can have a guys night out. Let me help take your mind off this. You passed your comps and we never celebrated. Don’t make me look like a shit mentor.”

 

Jongin gives him half a smile. “Ok.”

 

The grin that Baekhyun gives him in response makes it all worth it.

 

“Awesome.”

\---

 

The bar takes up the entirety of a six floor Victorian townhouse, each floor playing a different selection of music and decorated in a different theme with colored lighting and matching, ornate furniture. It almost feels too fancy to be club but people are everywhere, spilling out of every corner, sipping on their drinks, and dancing in the open space in the middle of the floor. Jongin follows Sehun up the intricately carved staircase and navigates through the throngs of people, laughing and swaying in their various levels of drunkenness. Sehun leads them to the rooftop patio where the heat cloistered inside can’t quite reach and instead they stand amongst a crowd of done up yuppies and their girlfriends, immaculate with their perfect hair and short dresses, all illuminated by the string lights criss crossing overhead.

 

Jongin has never really liked Eighteenth Lounge. It’s the type of bougie-chic DuPont club that attracts the rich and aspirationally wealthy set of D.C. young people. Every time he goes, he feels out of place. But Baekhyun had picked the location insisting that tonight was a celebration, so Jongin’s discomfort be damned.

 

Sehun navigates to a table tucked away in a corner where Baekhyun is sitting with a throng of other people that Jongin registers as other members of the Korean Grad Student Association. There’s a half full bottle of patron on the table and a circle of empty shot glasses. They’d clearly gotten a head start.

 

“You made it!” Baekhyun shouts out, his arms spread wide in greeting. “I was getting worried when ten pm hit and you two hadn’t showed up yet.”

 

“I had to make Jongin go back and change,” Sehun says, sitting in one of the vacant chairs. “He wasn’t cute enough to be seen out with me.”

 

Jongin takes the chair in between Sehun and Minseok, who he recognizes from the latest year-end meeting. Minseok smiles at him.

 

“He looks fine to me,” he says, taking in Jongin’s tight fitting jeans and black low cut button down. Jongin feels his face grow hot under his attention.

 

“That’s cause Sehun probably dressed him,” Yoongi deadpans. Jongdae and Taehyung, both from Baekhyun’s lab, start laughing hysterically.

 

“I did.” Sehun scoffs. “You should have seen the disaster he came out in earlier.”

 

Baekhyun keeps laughing and fills two shot glasses with tequila, sliding one each to Sehun and Jongin. 

 

“You both need to catch up,” he announces. “We’re a bottle in already.”

 

Sehun picks up his glass and knocks back the shot in one go. Jongin stares at the clear colored liquid in front of him, watching the way the pinpoints of gold from the lights up above reflect in the drink.

 

“Um, I think you’re supposed to drink it,” Minseok says, nudging him gently on the shoulder. “Unless you’d rather have someone else drink it for you.”

 

Jongin musters up the enthusiasm to smile at him and shakes his head. He picks up the shot glass and swallows it down, trying his best to not grimace as the burn of the alcohol works its way down his throat. “I can drink it myself,” he says to Minseok.

 

“I can tell.” Minseok reaches across the table and refills his own empty shot glass before refilling Jongin’s own.

 

“Cheers.” Minseok raises his glass and then takes the shot. Jongin toasts him back and takes the second shot. It’s like the second burst of alcohol pushes the first through his veins and it all goes to Jongin’s head. The buzzing in his head is replaced by a warm fog and Jongin eases himself into it, wanting to sink in as deeply as he can.

 

He smiles at Minseok. Raises his shot glass.

 

“Challenge you to another?”

 

Minseok matches his grin with one of his own. It’s a slow smile, the type that only takes up half of his mouth and Jongin can’t help but stare. Minseok is . . .hot. Really hot. He’s a dangerous type of handsome with sharp, beautiful eyes, long wavey black hair and chiseled cheekbones. He’s the type of hot that Jongin never considers as being within his reach.

 

Minseok picks up the tequila bottle and pours them both another shot.

 

“Hell yeah,” he says, toasting Jongin. “I can do this all night.”

 

Jongin takes his own shot. The alcohol hits him immediately.

 

“Good thing I have all night.” He can feel himself slur his words together.

 

“Then let’s see how much of this bottle we can get through.” Minseok tops their glasses back up.

 

They make it through two more shots before Jongin is draped over Minseok’s arm, his chest hot with tequila and his head misty, laughing hysterically at the lab incident that Jongdae and Baekhyun are enthusiastically reenacting, their voices rising as they compete against one another for control of the story.

 

The night plays on like that--Jongin, Minseok, Baekhyun and the rest of them work their way through the remainder of the bottle of tequila, all of them drunk and laughing. They finish and Baekhyun shouts that he wants to dance and gets up on tipsy legs, Jongdae, Sehun, and Minseok following. Minseok holds one hand out Jongin.

 

“Coming?”

 

Jongin takes it and stands. “Sure.”

 

They end up in the middle of the floor, Jongin caged in between Minseok and Sehun; his back to Sehun’s front and Minseok’s back moving against his front in slow, rhythmic circles. The DJ is playing a raunchy set, each song rough with a deep, bouncing beat and Jongin feels himself being pulled in, pushing back against Sehun’s hips, one arm moving up to hook around the back of Sehun’s neck, the other falling forward to grip at Minseok’s waist, tugging him closer. It’s reckless, dancing like this, and despite the alcohol, Jongin can still feel his inhibitions drop away, replaced with a destructive irresponsibility that he knows he will regret in the morning. But he pushes the niggling thought down, choosing instead to bury himself in the heat pressing against him. Minseok turns to face Jongin, his arms looping around his neck. Minseok brings his face to the crook of Jongin’s neck and leans forward, pressing the ghost of a kiss against Jongin’s hot skin. It feels good, to be touched like this after so long, and Jongin lets his eyes slide closed and throws his head back, resting it on Sehun’s shoulder, giving Minseok room to lick at him. He can feel the way that Sehun gasps, but whether its at the feeling of Jongin’s head against his body or at the sight of Minseok’s mouth sucking on Jongin’s neck, he doesn’t know.

 

They dance for a long while, long enough for the music to mellow out and for Jongin’s shirt to be plastered with sweat, the fabric sticking to his body. Minseok is biting at his collarbones, the quick points of pain working their way through Jongin’s bones. He can feel the alcohol slowly starting to seep out of his system with the sweat. A subtle discomfort starts to settle in its stead; his body too hot, Minseok too physical,  _ Sehun _ too close. Jongin places a hand on the back of Minseok’s neck, stilling his movements and he breaks away from the bodies holding him in.

 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says to them, trying to find a good excuse to leave. He can’t contain the tremble in his voice.

 

Minseok nods at him and Sehun raises his eyebrows, as if asking if everything is alright. Jongin avoids his eyes and moves away from the dancefloor, heading towards the stairs leading back inside.

 

He finds the bathroom on the third floor. The bathroom is like any other club bathroom; white tile gone gray with decades old grime, three urinals and two stalls. The far stall is empty and Jongin goes in and locks the door, grateful for the solitude. It’s quieter in here, the sounds of the club muted through the walls and Jongin relishes the silence. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to will himself to cling to the lingering shreds of his sobriety. He’s drunker than he’s probably been in years. He slums against the graffiti covered side of the stall and hopes that everything will stop spinning. He can feel the soft throb of the bites that Minseok left on his skin and they sting. He knows that locking himself away like this is pathetic and that Baekhyun and Sehun are probably worried about him but he feels hot and sticky all over and it’s not from the dancing.

 

The flush of the toilet the next stall makes Jongin open his eyes and he straightens up. He adjusts his shirt, the silk blend damp and tacky against his skin.  He takes another deep breath to steady himself and opens the stall door, stumbling out into the glare of the fluorescent lights reflecting in the single water speckled mirror. He goes over to the sink and braces his hands on the porcelain edge, leaning forward to peer at his reflection. His hair is still wet with sweat and is starting to clump against his forehead. There’s a trail of tiny red bites making its way up the column of neck and he reaches up, feeling the marks, slightly raised. He can see the oily sheen left on his skin from dancing and he turns on the faucet, ducking down to splash cold water on his face. There’s the creak of the stall door opening behind him just as he shuts off the water. Whoever was in the other stall comes up to stand behind him and even with his eyes closed, Jongin can feel the weight of the other person’s presence behind him. Jongin wipes the excess water off his face with an open palm and finally opens his eyes, catching sight of the other man behind him.

 

And then he freezes.

 

Taemin is standing behind him, watching Jongin’s face through the reflection. Even after so many months, Taemin looks the same--same full mouth, same silver piercings, same dark hair falling into his eyes, same dispassionate look on his face. But there’s something new there, something delicate lurking in Taemin’s eyes. It’s a hard look, one that Jongin can’t quite place, and its difficulty sends Jongin’s stomach down to his knees, making him spur back into motion. He stumbles back from the sink, the faucet still running, and hurries to leave, bumping his shoulder into Taemin’s side on his way out the door. Taemin doesn’t try to stop him.

 

Jongin fumbles his way back to the staircase, almost bolting his way down to the second floor. He nearly collides with a girl who barely looks old enough to be in the club. She shoots him a dirty look that Jongin barely catches in his haste to get as far away from the bathroom as possible, his heart thundering in his chest.

 

He ends up on the second floor, his face hot and his body sweaty from racing down the stairs. 

The space is doused in dark red light, and long black shadows stretch along the floor, playing haunt to each person as they stand at the bar or sway on the dance floor. The music is quieter down here, the DJ spinning deep toned hip hop that makes the air shimmer with the bass. The walls are pocked with small alcoves where elaborately tufted sofas are tucked away, groups of people settled together, talking and drinking and Jongin goes to an empty sofa at the far end, away from the crowds, sitting down heavy on the stiff brocaded cushion. The roiling of his stomach has returned, but this time, Jongin doesn’t think that it’s from the alcohol. He hangs his head, cradling his face in his hands, trying to will his body into obedience, but the shame of what he’s just done, the rising humiliation from having run out of the bathroom, and the hot shock and  _ longing _ that he’s felt at seeing Taemin again after so long rebel against him, making Jongin sink into himself, drowning in a mess of his own emotions. He feels  _ stupid _ , he feels like a child for running, for not being able to stand his ground and nod at Taemin, to give him the same strained smile he’s been forcing his friends and family to accept. To look him dead in the eye and smile and say  _ I’m fine. I’m doing so well without you. I don’t think about you. Everything is great. _ But instead, the thin screen that Jongin constructed over the past month and a half had finally cracked, and everything that he’d tried to stack behind it had come tumbling out in the split second that he and Taemin had made eye contact. Now Taemin knows. Now he’s seen what Jongin has tried to hide from himself and everyone else he knows.

 

There’s a sudden pressure on the seat cushion next to him and Jongin rights himself, shifting to see who’s sitting next to him. He almost has to laugh.

 

“I didn’t expect you to run out like that.” Taemin says. His voice is steady and even toned. There’s a slight smile on his face, but the same difficult look shines in his eyes. He’s holding a tumbler full of what looks like whiskey, the glass nearly full, his fingers curling around the cut crystal.  He scoots closer to Jongin, close enough that his thigh presses against Jongin’s own, trapping him in between the arm of the sofa and his own body. “It’s been a while,” he says. He sips at his drink, his full lips pursing as the strong alcohol hits his tongue.

 

A cold sliminess rises up the back of Jongin’s throat and he swallows, trying to quell his nerves.

 

“It has been a while,” he replies, choosing to ignore Taemin’s first comment. He’s surprised at how stable his voice sounds. “It’s been over a month.” He bites his tongue, realizing that he sounds accusatory.

 

Taemin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t take offense and he nods, his earrings glinting with the movement. 

 

“It has.” He quirks his mouth to the side and then, as if at a loss for something to do with his hands, he offers the glass to Jongin.

 

“Do you want some?”

 

Jongin knows that he should say no--he’s had plenty to drink tonight and is still fighting to hold on to his tenuous sobriety. If he were smart, he’d try to hold on as strongly as he can to his senses, he’d try his best to be alert for whatever Taemin throws his way. He’d want to keep his guard up.

 

But despite all his rationale, despite all of his common sense, tonight Jongin is not smart. He’s hurt and insecure and  _ scared _ to be so close to Taemin again, scared to be in such close proximity to the person who’d refused to give him an answer.

 

Jongin takes the glass from Taemin’s hand. The single silver ring on Taemin’s index finger shines in the low light.

 

“Thanks.” He takes a sip and it’s good--it’s sweet and smokey on his tongue. Jongin swallows, savoring the burn.

 

They don’t say anything after that, they just sit there, passing the glass back and forth, sipping at the whiskey. Jongin feels himself slip deeper into his own intoxication and he doesn’t quite care. If he were sober, he doubts that he’d have the nerve to sit next to Taemin as calmly as he is right now.

 

Taemin is looking at him, his expression still unreadable, but his eyes singe Jongin’s face. Another day at an earlier time, Jongin would have teased him, poked him on the nose and asked Taemin for his thoughts. But tonight, none of that easy banter is there. 

 

Instead, Jongin stares back, studying Taemin’s face for any clue to what’s running through his mind. But Taemin is an expert at tucking himself away. There’s nothing there.  Jongin can feel the dull vibration of his phone ringing in his jeans pocket but he ignores it, not wanting the distraction. His eyes meet Taemin’s own and Jongin bites his lip and holds his gaze, surprising himself with his boldness. Taemin gives him another small smile. He still looks so good, the warmth of Taemin’s body so close to his own is so familiar, the smell of his skin and his cigarettes is still so strong even over the club’s own scent of sweat and spilled alcohol that Jongin just wants to lean over and kiss him. It would be so easy. It’s everything that he’s wanted over these last few weeks; to just reach over and touch Taemin again, to just taste their mouths pressed together, to just feel their breaths mixing together. It’s stupid and wishful and reckless but Jongin is drunk and he’s feeling significantly more gone with each deep breath. He watches as Taemin drains the last of the glass, his eyes closed and his head tilted back and Jongin can’t help himself. Taemin sets the empty tumbler down on the table in front of them and Jongin leans forward, kissing him on the mouth.

 

It’s weird, how easily they come back together. Taemin tastes like whiskey and warmth, his tongue heavy in Jongin’s mouth. And even now, Taemin kisses him like he’s trying to bruise, like he’s trying to snatch the air out of Jongin’s lungs, like he’s trying to say,  _ this is mine we never should have stopped _ . Taemin’s hands are everywhere--on Jongin’s shoulders, grasping at his back, sliding under his shirt, slipping over the sweat-damp skin of his stomach, gripping at his inner thighs and Jongin gasps and tries to hang on, taking hold of Taemin’s waist, trying his best to not get swept away. Taemin bites at Jongin’s bottom lip and Jongin whines into his mouth, welcoming the sting. Jongin  _ knows _ he should stop, he  _ knows _ that he should draw away from Taemin’s body but Taemin is kissing him like he’s finally going to answer Jongin’s last question, like he’s finally saying  _ yes _ and it’s all Jongin can do to not cling to Taemin’s shoulders and beg him to carry him away.

 

Taemin runs both hands down to Jongin’s waist, tugging him forward so that Jongin is straddling him, his knees on either side of Taemin’s lap. Taemin slides his palms under Jongin’s shirt and feels his way across the bare skin of Jongin’s back, making Jongin shake and shudder into his mouth. It feels so good, too good, and Jongin tangles his hands in Taemin’s hair, tugging the other man’s head back slightly so that he can mouth at his neck. 

 

Jongin is subtly aware of the rest of the club around them; he can just hear the gritty sound of the bass over the sounds of their laboring breathing. Jongin knows that they’re exposed, that they’re in a public space and even if they’re tucked off to the side, anyone could walk past and see them like this, but he doesn’t  _ fucking care _ because kissing Taemin like this feels so good and having him between his thighs like this feels so good, and having him gasp into their kisses like this feels so good, uncertainty be damned.

 

“Fucking hell, you have the best lips,” Taemin slurs. He hisses under his breath and readjusts in his seat, shifting his hips further down so that his erection presses against the soft curve of Jongin’s ass. Taemin takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to breathe Jongin in and he grabs at his ass, squeezing hard enough that Jongin lets out a high pitched whine.

 

And Jongin leans in and keeps kissing him, trying to absorb the taste of Taemin, trying to inhale as much of him as he can. He can feel the alcohol swirling around in his head and it urges him on, almost as if it’s whispering to him, silencing every last one of Jongin’s inhibitions.

 

Taemin breaks away from Jongin’s mouth and works his hand north, dipping two fingers into the waistband of Jongin’s jeans.

 

“Would you dance with me?” Taemin  whispers, his words hot as they ghost over Jongin’s ear. The music comes back into focus and Jongin is suddenly aware of the bass thumping behind him.

 

Jongin licks his lips and swallows, trying to hold on to the taste of Taemin.

 

“Yes.”

 

They find a spot off to the side of the dancefloor, Taemin’s fingers tight around Jongin’s wrist. It’s gotten more crowded since Jongin had first sat down and people press up against them as they settle together.

 

Taemin’s hands settle around Jongin’s waist and he pulls in close, his chest brushing up against Jongin’s own.

 

“Don’t run from me this time.” Taemin’s face is so close that Jongin can taste the words.

 

“I won’t.”

The song playing is slow and heavy, the beat working its way into both of their bodies. Dancing with Taemin is easy, easy like the way sleeping with him had been easy, like the way that touching him has always been easy. Their bodies meld and join and break apart only to come back together in all the right ways, making Jongin shiver against the hard press of Taemin’s body. Taemin is a good dancer, his hips finding all of the rhythmic gaps in the beat, leading Jongin through the music.

 

Taemin’s fingers stroke at the gap of skin right above Jongin’s underwear. “Would you let me do this to you right here?” Jongin gasps and winds his arms around Taemin’s neck, rubbing his face into the crook of his neck. God, he’s so fucking drunk. 

 

Instead of responding, he kisses Taemin again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and Taemin moans into his mouth and finally slips a finger into Jongin’s waistband, running a warm finger over the sensitive skin right above his crotch. Jongin is faintly aware of the people around them and that they’re more exposed in the rush of the crowd than they had been on the couch, but Jongin feels more cocooned in, hidden away from prying eyes in the crowded center of the floor.

 

“Can we go somewhere?” Taemin whispers against his mouth. His eyes are still closed, the delicate skin of his eyelids flushed a warm red in the club’s lighting. “I want to. . .”

 

Jongin nods, biting at Taemin’s lips again. 

 

They stumble back into the bathroom, Taemin pressing Jongin into an empty stall, locking the door behind him. Taemin is on him immediately, pushing Jongin against the cold steel of the wall, his hands undoing the button and zip of Jongin’s jeans, his mouth biting and sucking at Jongin’s neck. And it feels good, so so good. Jongin is gasping and whining out loud, so far gone and completely uncaring of the fact that anyone might hear them. 

 

Taemin gets Jongin’s pants undone and pushes them down his thighs. He bites at Jongin’s neck one more time before sinking down to his knees to take Jongin’s hard cock into his mouth.

 

Jongin’s eyes clench shut and he cries out, his right hand curling into Taemin’s long hair, his left hand reaching up to grip at the top of the stall. Taemin sucks on him like he’s trying to drink him in, his lips and tongue everywhere at once; sinking down to the base, curling around the head, licking up the sides of his shaft. And Jongin is so close, worked up from their kisses and from the hot press of Taemin’s body.

 

Taemin flicks his tongue across the slit and reaches down and plays with his balls and the slim control that Jongin is clinging to snaps and he tightens his grip on Taemin’s hair, pulling.

 

“Tae-Taemin--” he rasps out and then he’s coming, shooting down Taemin’s throat, heaving heavy breaths.

Jongin opens his eyes and looks down, squinting at the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

 

Taemin looks up at him, wiping a hand across his reddened mouth. His eyes are wide as they gaze up at Jongin, the deep brown irises streaked through with a roughness that Jongin recognizes. 

 

“Taemin--” he starts, reaching down to pull the other man up so he can hold him, but Taemin moves out of his grasp.

 

“No.” Something about the tremor in Taemin’s voice, something about the way uneasiness curls around his vowels, something about the way he stands on stiff legs and pushes himself into the opposite corner of the stall makes Jongin freeze. Jongin sees the expression on Taemin’s face and this one he knows. It’s broken and aching, the same one that Jongin had seen reflected back at him each time he looked in the mirror, the same one that made Jongin yearn for Taemin in ways that he’d never thought he’d deserved.

 

Jongin doesn’t know what to say.

 

“I should go.” Taemin’s voice cracks and he turns around abruptly and struggles with the door latch before the stall creaks open and he stumbles out, rushing through the main door with a startling bang.

 

Jongin stands half dressed in the partially open stall, staring at the swinging bathroom door. The buzz from his orgasm has subsided, leaving him with the rocky waves of his drunkenness, pulling him back under as he tries to puzzle through what the fuck just happened.

 

He clumsily fixes his pants and, for the second time that night, straightens his shirt. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion. He can feel the weight of his phone in his back pocket and he takes it out, seeing the text from earlier.

 

**(1:31) sehun:** where’d u go? u good?

 

Jongin can’t stop the laugh that he coughs out.

 

He isn’t so sure.

\---

 

Summer nights have always been Jongin’s favorite.

 

D.C. sighs at nighttime, the air finally relaxing under the glow of the moonlight, a thick breeze finally cutting through the day’s lingering tension. Everything feels easier, lighter and Jongin lives for the moment that the last of the sunlight eases away and is replaced with the inky blue-black that only seems to blanket the city in the dead of June, wrapping them all in a warm, welcoming sea. Before, Jongin would spend nights like these on his apartment’s balcony, hanging over the railing, his fingers tracing curlicues against the sky in time to the soft music pumping through his bluetooth speakers. Nights like these would make the music feel more alive, thrust the melody closer. Nights like these would play canvas to the music, letting the songs paint their stories across the dark sky in front of him.

 

He’s out on the balcony tonight, perched on one of the old folding chairs that he and Sehun had scavenged from a yard sale at the start of last year. The sun set about an hour ago but the sky is still light, tinged with fading streaks of dusty gold. There’s no music tonight; he can’t bear play any. Instead, he listens to the sounds of cars driving past on the road, the sounds of people walking past on the sidewalk, their voices floating up towards him. 

 

It’s lonelier like this--without the comfort of the deep night to cradle him, without the sound of music to rock him gently. Jongin’s mind runs back and forth, his thoughts bouncing, forcing him back to last Saturday night, the memories fogged through the tinge of alcohol.

 

If anything, Saturday had shown him that maybe Baekhyun had been right. Jongin had fallen in love with Taemin. He’d fallen in love with all of Taemin--with this quiet moments, with his serious faces, with his oddness and kindness. And he’d fallen in love with Manhwa’s Taemin--the performer, the exhibitionist, the version that almost never let him in. When Taemin had sat next to him that night, some part of Jongin had hoped, yearned for the possibility that it had been Taemin, the soft, silly gentle Taemin that he’d caught glimpses of throughout their short, stilted relationship that had kissed him back. But no. Jongin should have known from the second that he looked into Taemin’s eyes in the locked bathroom stall and seen the swirl of crackling emotions in his eyes that that wasn’t the Taemin that he was getting. The Taemin he’d seen had been someone completely different, someone that he’d never seen before. Jongin doesn’t know that person. And he isn’t sure what to make of him. 

 

But the feeling of Taemin’s mouth on his own--hot and sure, and the solidness of their bodies pressed together in the bathroom stall and the liquid motion of their hips on the dance floor all flood back to him and Jongin sighs, remembering. But even with those hot wire moments that are still sending electric shocks through his blood after a week out, Jongin’s mind settles on the unstable sadness that had taken over Taemin’s eyes and the fractured tremble in his voice right before he fled.

 

How ironic, that Jongin had set off their night by running away in a panic and Taemin had closed it by doing the same.

 

Jongin doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what Taemin means, he doesn’t know what he wants.

 

But what he does know is that his phone has stayed silent all week. What he does know is that he finds himself checking again and again, glancing at his text messages, hoping that something will change.  He takes out his phone now and looks at his text messages. Still nothing. With uneasy fingers he taps out a new message.

 

**(20:14) jongin:** i think u owe me more than this.

 

All he knows is that he’s sick of the silence. He misses the music. And all he wants to do is to bask in the nighttime and sit with the melodies and try to make sense of this story.

 

\---

 

“Three margaritas to table twelve!” Joy’s voice rings out through the loud din. Jongin nods at her and takes the shaker from the shelf underneath the bar and starts measuring out tequila and simple syrup. The Green Line is completely packed tonight--the Capitals have wrangled their way to the Stanley Cup finals and every bar in the city is packed with people, trying to find a place to watch the last game. D.C. has been worked up to a fever pitch all week, people running through the streets in white and red jerseys, banners and posters plastered all over the city with “WE ARE ALL CAPS” shouting out at passersby. Junmyeon dug up a projector for game five and the entire bar is caught up in watching the Caps fight the Golden Knights for their first title. Jongin glances at the game and watches as Ovechkin scores a goal, the entire bar erupting in raucous cheers.

 

“I’ve never understood hockey.” Irene comes up behind him, wiping her hands on a towel. She’s wearing a Backstrom jersey that she’s tied at the waist, cinched just high enough that Jongin can see her belly button. Junmyeon had made them all wear Caps gear for the special night. Something about ‘joining in on the festivities’. “I don’t get why people like it so much.”

 

“The missing teeth and violence on ice really gets a city worked up.” Jongin salts the rims of the margarita glasses and then pours an equal measure of the cocktail in each one. “Can you take these over to twelve for me?”

 

Irene sighs and scoops up the glasses. She’s been nicer, more willing to go out of her way to help out Jongin these past few weeks. Jongin is half certain that Junmyeon put her up to it in an attempt to drag him out of his funk. The softness is weird, coming from her, and Jongin almost misses her usual semi-abrasive attitude.  There’s a chorus of gasps and groans. The Knights have scored. “I can’t wait until hockey season is over,” Irene whines.

 

Jongin laughs. “Your tips will be lower once tonight is over.”

 

Irene rolls her eyes. “No amount of money can make up for how irritating hockey fans are.” She puts the cocktails on a tray and then heads off to wade through the packed bar.

 

It’s the busiest night aht Jongin has ever had at the Green Line. The bar stays packed late into the night, customers demanding drink after drink up until the final whistle, sending Jongin, Joy, Junmyeon, and Irene running around the bar, filling every last order until--

 

“FUCK YES.” Junmyeon jumps up on the bartop, fists pumping into the air. People are on tables, standing on their chairs, screaming, hugging, crying, yelling. They finally did it. The Caps won. The customers flood out into the street and Jongin watches as they all stream out, running to join the euphoric chaos brewing in the street.

 

“You coming?” Joy asks him, her hand fast around the wrist of a disgruntled Irene. “This may be the only time that Junmyeon will let us run out into the streets on shift.”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. I’m going to hang back. Someone needs to watch the bar.”

 

Joy pouts at him. “Your loss.” And she drags a miserable looking Irene out into the street.

 

The Green Line is completely empty now; half full beer glasses abandoned on tables, chairs upturned in the crowd’s mad rush to run out into the street. There’s only the sound of the post game show coming through the speakers, the commentators roaring with their own frantic excitement. 

 

He turns off the projector and goes around the bar, clearing up and righting chairs. It’s a bit eerie, being alone in the Green Line like this, but after all the noise earlier in the evening, Jongin is grateful for the silence.

 

He’s nearly done cleaning up when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out, assuming that it’s Junmyeon or one of the girls, checking in on him.

 

It’s a text from a name that he didn’t expect to see on his home screen ever again. 

 

Jongin feels his heart speed up and his palm grows sweaty around the phone clutched in his hand. He feels like he should ignore the text, delete it probably, and go on with his night, pretending that their long silence continues to stretch on.

 

But Jongin had unraveled and retwisted their cramped time together on that Saturday night. He’d waited for Taemin to reply to his last text. Jongin wants everything that Taemin owes him.

 

He opens the text and is greeted with a link. There are no accompanying words. He clicks on it and is greeted by the familiar white and orange Soundcloud icon. There’s no default picture, just a plain black square and the username is a haphazard mix of random letters and numbers.

 

He presses play anyways.

It’s a short clip of music--just about 20 seconds of rough instrumentals, piano and mellow guitar weaving around one another to create a thick blanket of airy melody. The song is softer than anything Jongin has ever heard Taemin make, far more brooding and with a heavy aching thread sewn throughout. It pulls at Jongin and tugs him under, submerging him in a nameless emotion that’s so dangerously familiar.

 

The clip ends abruptly, the handful of seconds cutting off just as the harmony begins to build. Jongin lets out the breath that he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding and blinks, unfurling his fingers from where they’d been tightly gripping his phone. He presses play again and again and then one more time, until he’s memorized each rise and dip in the short song.

 

He opens the message app on his phone and stares at his text exchange with Taemin. He types out one sentence, then deletes it and types out another. Deletes that one too. Jongin stares at the empty dialogue box.

 

He isn’t sure what to do.

 

\---

He gets another text a week later. 

 

It’s late on Friday night and he’s sandwiched between Sehun and Baekhyun on his living room couch, watching the credits roll on the last episode of season two of Queer Eye. Baekhyun had invited himself over and demanded that they binge watch the whole season together. He’d brought pizza along. His treat.

 

Jongin’s phone goes off and he looks down at the link in the text and his heart speeds up. He’d never responded to the last text that Taemin had sent him, but he’d hoped that somehow, Taemin had known that Jongin had wanted to hear more. That he was still listening.

 

Jongin stands up quickly, jostling Sehun.

 

“Is that really necessary?” Sehun scowls at him.

 

“Sorry.” Jongin squeezes the phone in his hand. “I, um, bathroom?”

 

Baekhyun gives him a look. “You alright?”

 

Jongin just nods at him and moves in the direction of the bathroom.

 

“Fine!” he shouts over his shoulder as he goes in and locks the door.

 

He takes his headphones from where they’re sitting tangled in his jeans pocket, plugging them in and unlocking his phone, clicking on the link.

 

Jongin recognizes the instrumentals from the last piece that Taemin had sent. It’s another short clip, edging towards half a minute. There are words this time, the music starting in the middle of verse.

 

_ All my friends they _ __  
_ Let me know _ __  
_ I've a fickle mind _ __  
_ Before the shows _ __  
_ I've a brittle tongue _ __  
_ It comes and goes _ __  
_ I've a fascination _ _  
_ __ With all I cannot control* 

 

The music cuts out suddenly again, leaving Jongin craving more. It’s beautiful, Taemin’s voice is deeper and sweeter than Jongin remembers, and it shines in front of the stripped down melody. The tenor of Taemin’s voice gives each word a thick gravity, weighing it down so that it sits in Jongin’s ear, reverberating against his eardrum.

 

It ends and, just like last time, Jongin plays it again, wanting to hear it again, wanting to catch anything that he may have missed the first time around. He’s about to play it again when there’s a knock at the door.

 

“You still alive?” Baekhyun shouts, still knocking. “Do I have to call an ambulance?”

 

Jongin takes his earbuds out and calls back, “No! I’m fine.” He flushes the toilet to help hide any of Baekhyun’s suspicions. “Coming out!”

 

It’s not that he’s hiding these texts from his friends but Jongin doesn’t feel ready to share. Not when he isn’t really sure what they are. Not when he’s not sure why Taemin is doing any of this or when he hasn’t even responded himself. Both Baekhyun and Sehun had been extremely angry after Jongin had told them about what had happened in the bathroom at Eighteenth Lounge, the two of them shouting about how Taemin had played him and couldn’t be trusted. Jongin had agreed with them, even though he couldn’t get that last lingering look that Taemin had given him out of his mind’s eye. The look that, for some reason, made Jongin think that his friends might be wrong. The look that made him think that maybe, for some reason, Taemin might have a lot more to tell him.

\---

Jongin’s life is flooded with music again.

 

The texts come at all hours; sometimes in the middle of the day, sometimes late at night or very early in the morning. Each has a short clip of a different part of the same song, every single one of them rough and unedited, some with lyrics, others without. Hidden in each one is a bit of loss, of longing, a bit of desire, a bit of something that sounds and feels a little like love.

 

Jongin listens to each one--while laying in bed, while riding the metro, while up on his balcony-- trying to piece it all together. 

 

\---

_ And I don't wanna beg your pardon _ __  
_ And I don't wanna ask you why _ __  
_ But if I was to go my own way _ _  
_ __ Would I have to pass you by? ** 

\---

 

“Any word on your thesis proposal yet?” His advisor looks at him over the edge of her horn rimmed glasses. “I’m anxious to see what you’ve been brainstorming since you finished up your comprehensive exams.”

 

Jongin reaches down to take a folder out of his backpack. He hands it to his advisor, who lays it flat on her desk, flipping through the pages.

 

“The Kim Sisters, huh?” she says, pausing to skim the outline page. “The article I gave you left that much of an impression?”

 

Jongin folds his arms across his body and nods.

 

“That one song,” he says, “‘Try to Remember’ really got to me. There’s something really haunting about it. There’s so much in those lyrics and it got me thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

“About memory,” he continues. “About trauma and the level of performativity that goes into trying to adapt to a new environment and the idea of performing both an exoticized, stereotypical Eastern identity blended with a modern, Western identity for an American audience. It got me thinking about how, even beyond the lyrics, ‘Try to Remember’ and, really, the Kim Sisters too, is a  story about longing and nostalgia for a manufactured past and an idealized, post-colonial and Western-based capitalist future.”

 

His advisor takes her glasses off and folds them on her desk top. She smiles at him.

 

“Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

 

Jongin shrugs, blushing slightly under her attention. He likes his advisor. She’s tough and shrewd and hard to impress. She pushes him further than any professor has ever pushed him, but she’s smart and fair and has made him think about music and culture in a way that he had never consider before. He’d picked the University of Maryland just with the hope that he could study under her one day.

 

“I guess I have,” he says. He glances out the window. It’s started raining since their meeting had started, one of those heavy and powerful summer storms that always seem to plague mid-June. “Lots of thinking and lots of listening to music.”

 

She goes back to flipping through his folder, humming softly.

 

“I like it,” she says finally. Jongin lets out the breath that he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding. “You need to flesh out your theoretical portion, but I think you’re on to something. I can look through my files and maybe send you a few authors to look into.”

 

Jongin can’t help but smile.

\---

_ Living without you _ __  
_ Living at all _ __  
_ Seems to slow me down _ __  
_ Living forever _ __  
_ Hell, I don't know _ _  
_ __ Do I care, do I care***

 

\---

“You’ve been listening to the same minute and a half of music for the past hour and a half.” Baekhyun pokes his head into Jongin’s bedroom. “Are you broken or something?”

 

Jongin looks up from his desk, blushing when he realizes that he’s been caught. He pauses the music

 

“What are you doing in my house? How did you get in here?” He asks Baekhyun instead of answering him.

 

Baekhyun comes into his room and flops belly first on to the bed. He bounces around as he gets settled, rumpling Jongin’s sheets.

 

“Sehun let me in,” he says, propping his head up on his arm. “I’ve been here for the past 2 hours playing Fortnite.”

 

“How do you have time for this?” Jongin turns back to the article he’d been skimming.

 

“Because it’s summer?” Baekhyun fires back. “And not all of us spend our entire breaks working? And I’m leaving to go back to Philly on Monday so I wanted to see my friends before I left forever.”

 

“Aren’t you only gone for a week?”

 

“A week is a long time,” Baekhyun whines. “And I’m going to be busy with Chanyeol tomorrow and Sunday so this is the only chance I have to see you both. Be nice to me.”

 

Jongin swivels around in his chair, to face Baekhyun.

 

“I am being nice.”

 

“And I’m still curious,” Baekhyun says. “Why are you sitting alone in your room listening to Taemin sing?”

 

Jongin sighs and closes his Macbook. 

 

“I guess this is where I tell you that things have been more complicated than I’ve been letting on,” Jongin says quietly.

 

“I figured,” Baekhyun says. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I guess I’ll just say that it’s up to you, Jongin. I can’t tell you what to do right now but I hope that you do whatever makes you happiest.”

 

Jongin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t know if I know what I want just yet. We haven’t even talked, he’s just been sending me music. I haven’t even responded.”

 

“Maybe this is his way of talking?” Baekhyun sits up, bracing his back against the headboard. “Maybe this is his way of letting you know how he feels or maybe this is his way of communicating with you as honestly as he can.” Baekhyun sighs.

 

“Listen, I’ve been talking to Chanyeol about this--” he spreads his arms wide, “--whatever this is that’s going on between you and Taemin.” Jongin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Chanyeol knows Taemin better than most people, probably. And he’s been around him this entire time and he knows what he’s going through.” Baekhyun frowns. “I won’t tell you what Chanyeol’s told me because that’s not fair to either of you, but I’ll say this. I’m still not sure that I trust Taemin, but I think that there’s a lot more to him than either of us really realized. I think that he has a lot more to say to you.”

 

“Are you saying that I should give him another chance?” Jongin can’t make out what Baekhyun is trying to say.

 

“I’m saying that you should maybe listen to what he has to say,” Baekhyun responds. “And then judge him. Or try to figure out who you’re in love with after that.” 

 

Jongin suddenly remembers what Chanyeol had told him in the recording studio what feels like so long ago.

 

_ “Music is his way of sharing his heart with us. Music is kind of his way of showing his most authentic self. So I guess he’s worth the trouble.” _

 

Jongin exhales. “Thanks, Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “Don’t thank me yet. You still don’t know what Taemin is trying to tell you.”

 

Jongin presses play on his phone, letting the music come through his speakers again.

 

“I think I’ll be able to figure it out.”

\---

The text comes late on Monday night, much later than any of the others.

 

The buzzing of Jongin’s phone on his nightstand rouses him from sleep and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He’d gotten used to waking up at odd hours over the past few weeks but it never gets any easier. He unplugs his phone from where it’s charging and checks the time. It’s nearly four am.

 

The text bubble blinks at him, Taemin’s name looking back at him in big bold type.

 

Jongin taps on it and the text opens.

 

It’s another link but there are words this time.

 

**(3:52) taemin:** when the lights are down.  link.

 

Jongin takes a deep breath and then clicks on the link.

 

It takes him to the same SoundCloud page, same black icon, same random mess of letters and numbers as the username. Jongin plugs in his headphones and presses play.

 

The soft piano and guitar that Jongin has grown so familiar with over the past month fill his ears. It’s a full length song this time, over five minutes long, and fully mixed, the vocals melting into the melody perfect. Every small piece of music and lyrics that Taemin had sent him over the past month fitting together, completing the full, perfect puzzle. The words fit together now and Jongin can finally see the whole picture.

Taemin sings about love, about fear, about authenticity. He sings of uncertainty, about wanting to try again.

 

It’s not a love song--it’s harder, more complicated and timid. Taemin sings like he’s afraid. Like he’s scared of what he’s feeling, like he’s mourning, like he’s shedding his layers, like he’s finally turning off the stage lights and stepping out onto the floor, showing all of himself, new and near and soft and small.

 

It’s a lot more than a love song.

 

Jongin finds it difficult to breathe.

  
  


**(5:04) jongin:** can we talk.

 

\---

It’s a busy night at the Green Line, busier than Thursdays usually are. The pool table is fully occupied and every seat at the bar is taken, customers demanding drink after drink. The jukebox is on and someone had cued up old OutKast songs, much to the delight of Irene and Joy who are loudly shouting out “Caroline!” in time with Andre 3000.

 

Jongin is busy refilling two beer glasses when he hears someone call out his name. He sets the glasses down in front of their owners and turns around. Taemin is leaning over the bar, looking at him. He’d cut and dyed his hair and now it’s a dark brown and falls across his forehead in a bowl cut that would look awful on anyone else, but of course it looks great on him.

 

“Hey,” Taemin says, with a small smile when he sees Jongin staring. “Can we talk? Or is this a bad time?”

 

Jongin looks over his shoulder and sees Junmyeon standing on the other side of the bar. He’s staring. He notices Jongin looking back at him and he nods.

 

“No,” Jongin says. “I can meet you outside in a few.”

 

Taemin nods. “I’ll just meet you by the door.”

 

Jongin finds him there a few minutes later. Taemin has his arms crossed over his chest and he’s staring at his shoes intensely. He looks up when Jongin comes up to him.

 

“Let’s go for a walk,” Jongin says, his voice much steadier than he feels. Taemin nods at him.

  
  


They leave the Green Line and walk out on the sidewalk. It’s well past nine but it’s still  hot and humid, July weighing down on D.C. with a heavy hand. They walk together silently, Jongin trying his best to not stare. He bites his lip instead and focuses on the street in front of him.

 

They go around the corner and head towards the illuminated steps of the Portrait Gallery, the concrete dusky gold in the light. They climb up towards the middle and sit down, avoiding the few other people sitting down, enjoying the late summer night.

 

Taemin sits just far away enough from Jongin that their thighs graze each other, electric hot in the summer night. He looks so  _ small _ sitting there, his hands curled between his legs, his back bent forward like he’s folding in on himself. He’s looking at Jongin with that same fragile look from the club and it’s more stripped down than Jongin has ever seen him. 

 

Jongin shifts around on the step, his heart jumping in his chest. It’s been so long since he’d been close to Taemin like this, since they’d had a real conversation and he’s  _ nervous _ . Jongin had spent the past month doing nothing but thinking about Taemin and listening to his voice and the way it held emotion as he unfurled himself for Jongin to hear. But being near him like this,  _ seeing _ him like this is so different.

 

“I got your texts,” Jongin says, lamely.

 

Taemin nods. “I figured you had,” he says softly. “I got yours too.”

 

“And I listened to the songs,” Jongin continues. He tries to make eye contact with Taemin and fails, focusing instead on the empty restaurants across the street. “Or, I guess, the song.”

 

“Did you like it?” Taemin asks. “I, uh. I wrote it for you.”

 

Jongin feels his entire face go red.

 

“I did,” he replies. “It’s. . .amazing. I didn’t know you knew how to play guitar, too.”

 

“I don’t,” Taemin says. “I got Seulgi to help me with those parts.”

 

Jongin nods.

 

They fall silent again, with only the sound of the cars on the street and an errant peal of laughter between them.

 

“Look,” Taemin starts. “I really wanted to see you. I. . .have something I need to tell you. I have a lot of things I need to tell you, honestly.”

 

Jongin nods again, feeling his nerves accelerate. He’s more nervous than he thinks he’s ever been around Taemin.

 

“I’m no good at being myself,” Taemin starts, “At showing myself to everyone around me. It  _ scares _ me. It’s so much easier for me to put up a wall, to put on a performance and keep everyone at arm’s length. That’s what I’m used to.” Taemin exhales. “But I realized pretty early on that I was falling for you. And that scared me more than  _ anything _ . So I tried to put my wall up higher and hoped that you wouldn’t fall for me too. But then you asked me to date you and. . .I didn’t know what to do. Dating you would have made everything that I’d put up fall apart. It would have let you get closer to me than anyone else has. And the thing is that I would have  _ let you _ . You get me like no else ever has Jongin. I love talking to you, I love hearing your voice, I love spending time with you. You make me think about life and music in a way that no one else ever has. And when I fucking say that that  _ scares _ me. . .” He laughs, quietly, shaking his head. “Everything was happening so quickly and when you asked me, I said I didn’t know cause I really didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to figure it out, figure out how to let someone be as close to me as I wanted you to be close to me. And figure out how to be close to you in the way that I wanted to be. As I want to be. I said I don’t know cause I wanted more time. But. . .” He trails off.

 

Jongin clenches his fists around his knees, worrying the denim of his jeans.

 

“But?” he asks Taemin.

 

“Sometimes we put our lives on hold, you know?” Taemin fidgets with the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it down over the waistband of his jeans. “Like we push things to the side, over and over again, telling ourselves that we’ll get around to it  _ later _ and that it’ll still be there  _ tomorrow _ and that we’re always going to have time.” He pauses, exhales hard. “But here’s the thing, Jongin. We don’t always have later. It’s not always there. Sometimes all we have is now and all we have is the fact that we had yesterday but now yesterday is gone and today is ending. And that’s it. It took me a long time to realize that, but now I’ve learned. It’s just one of those things that you figure out as life goes on. And that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing now--just trying to live the life that I always thought I couldn’t have because, honestly, I’m so afraid that I’m going to wake up tomorrow and I’ll have missed my only shot.”

 

There’s a soft vulnerability in Taemin; in the uneasy way he holds up his head, in the quick twitch of his lips. He seems younger, more open. More honest. He looks so far removed from the Taemin that Jongin first watched, far away and up on a stage, that Jongin feels like he’s watching something forbidden, something obscene.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Jongin asks. His throat’s gone dry and he’s whispering, like he’s trying to not scare Taemin away. “Why did you write me that song?”

 

Taemin shifts his gaze to the left, avoiding Jongin’s eyes. He tugs at his sleeves. 

 

“Because I made a mistake with you. I made  _ that _ mistake. I put you on hold, thinking that you’d always be there. That I could always come back, that I could put you on hold.” His lips quirk up in a grimace. “That I could put myself on hold, too. And you have every right to say no to what I’m going to ask you, you have every right to tell me to fuck off and never talk to you again. But the thing is, Jongin--” Taemin’s voice breaks on the syllables in Jongin’s name and Jongin feels his heart stop. “The thing is that I know that my life isn’t the same without you in it. Making music isn’t the same if you’re not near me. If I had a second chance at any of this, I would have owned up to that fact from the very beginning. I would have held onto you and kept you close from the very first time we got drunk sitting on my kitchen floor.” Taemin swallows, gulping down air. “But I don’t have yesterday, right? I refuse to keep waiting for tomorrow. So I only have right now. And I think, this time, I’m going to try to do it the right way.” Taemin inches forward, close, then closer, until he’s right in Jongin’s space. Jongin feels the other man’s heat on his chest and he can smell his scent, shampoo and night air and cigarettes and something that’s so truly only Taemin, and Jongin breathes in deeply, almost gasping for breath. 

 

“So will you? Let me? Try one more time? Will you let me show you who I am, this time? Not stage Taemin or Manhwa’s Taemin but just Taemin Lee? Just me and who I am when the stage lights are off?” Taemin looks straight into Jongin’s face, really really looks at him with his hard and penetrating stare, the same one that Jongin had seen all those months ago. Jongin feels almost as vulnerable as Taemin appears.

 

Jongin realizes that he's known the answer for a long, long time.

 

“One more time,” Jongin says, his voice so low. He wraps his arms around Taemin’s middle, pulling the other man against his body. He buries his face in his hair and closes his eyes, letting Taemin’s warmth and softness melt into him. “Just one more.”

 

Taemin’s arms come up around Jongin’s back and Jongin feels Taemin’s fingers fist into the back of his shirt. Taemin bows his head and presses his face into the crook of Jongin’s neck and shoulder. His lips are warm against Jongin’s skin.

 

“One more is more than enough. One more is all I need.”

 

\---

The crowd is deafening, the screaming and clapping and stomping making the floor shake. The lights go down and then the stage is inundated in a deep green glow, lighting up the five people standing in the center. 

 

Jongin is standing just off to the side of the stage, in the wings with Irene, Wendy, Baekhyun, and Sehun. They’ve been here all night, watching the whole concert from backstage.

 

As always, Jongin’s eyes go straight to the man standing in the middle.

 

Taemin looks over to the side and catches his eye, his face splitting into the widest smile.

 

“We’re Manhwa,” Taemin says into the microphone. The crowd screams back at him and Chanyeol hits the cymbals, egging them on. “Thanks so much for listening to us play tonight. We have one more song for you.” The crowd shouts in protest, only making Taemin smile more. “It’s a rearrangement of a song that’s really important to me.” Taemin looks back into the wings, finding and holding Jongin’s gaze one more time. “I wrote it for someone really special,” he says. He waves at Jongin who laughs and waves back. “For someone I really love.” Seulgi pulls a gagging face, making Yeri and Yixing dissolve into giggles. Taemin ignores them and turns his attention back out to the audience.

 

“Anyways, this is When The Lights Are Down,” he says,  “And, for the record. Jongin Kim, I really fucking love you.”

 

_ One, two, three, four _ \---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> The lyrics from When The Lights Are Down are from a few different Ben Howard songs (cause honestly, who does love songs better than Ben Howard). See below:
> 
> * Ben Howard - [Am I In Your Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzbhRXBphjM)
> 
> ** Ben Howard - [Black Flies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NPA__ra9uY)
> 
> *** Ben Howard - [End Of The Affair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_ojOSHowRA) (slightly edited)
> 
> \---
> 
> How tf did this end up being so long, help me.
> 
> This fic was really challenging. It’s one of the longest things I’ve ever written and I decided to write in a more continuous style than I have done recently so it took more plot and character development than I’m used to. I also tried to implement as many canon things about each character as I could, so that involved trying to work in Jongin’s bookishness in a way that really tied into the plot (which really stretched my knowledge of the post-war(s) and post-colonial period in S. Korea and the origins of trot music), working in Taemin’s love of pool (I’ve literally only played pool like 6 times in my life so I had to read the entire wiki page on pool rules), and trying to stay true to Jongin’s shyness. 
> 
> ALSO, I hope I never decide to write a musician or performance centered fic again. Trying to describe how music sounds and conveys different emotions, and how people look on stage is so ridiculously difficult, omg. On the brightside, I watched like 23980594 Taemin/Shinee performance videos for ~research~.
> 
> I did something different this time and set this story in a place that I know really well. I just moved away from D.C. and I don’t know when (or if) I’ll ever be coming back. So in a lot of ways, this story is kind of my way of saying goodbye to the place that I’ve always called home. I kept the names of the neighborhoods the same and largely stayed true to the layout of the city. The majority of this story takes place along the Metro’s green line (get it? get it?) and most of these places are real, though I slightly changed their names (“Bleubyrd” → “Songbyrd”, “Black Hat” → the very famous “Black Cat”, “Eighteenth Lounge” → “Eighteenth Street Lounge”. The Green Line is actually an amalgamation of a few different bars in the Gallery Place/Chinatown area. I actually got the name from a (very shitty and very racist) bar that used to be right around the corner from the Capital One Center called the “Red Line”. I’m very glad that it no longer exists, lmao. The Green Line in my head is a very nice, pleasant place.) But anyways, despite all the challenges and all my whining on tumblr and twitter, I had a lot of fun with this and I hope that you all enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> This will likely be my last fic (if not my last fic, then definitely my last longfic). I’m about to start school again and I know that I won’t have any time to write in between classes and studying. So I’d like to thank all of you for reading this. It’s been an amazing experience to share my writing with all of you and to be a part of the fic writing part of this fandom. I love writing and I’ve loved getting to know all of you. It makes my sad little heart sing.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading this. Your comments and kudos mean more than you’d all ever know.
> 
> If you ever want to see what I'm up to, come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/intensencounter) or [tumblr](https://transparent-umbrellla.tumblr.com/).


End file.
